Rose pounds on the door as the TARDIS hurtles through the time vortex, which is blue-shifting: the Doctor is sending her back to Jackie, and Harrod's, and chips. All the things he loves about her, that he could never have. He's sending her home. Then things get wicked sad. (I think we lost some of this, too.) "This is Emergency Program One," says the Doctor. Rose spins around and sees a hologram of the Doctor. There are some neat production things going on here: he's shaky and technical-looking, and his voice is kind of sciencey. "Rose, now listen; this is important. If this message is activated, then it can only mean one thing: we must be in danger, and I mean fatal. I'm dead, or about to die any second, with no chance of escape." Rose jumps forward, screaming protest. And the Doctor hologram continues: "And that's okay. Hope it's a good death." And Rose stops and stares up at him, on the ramp to the console. The Doctor: "But I promised to look after you, and that's what I'm doing. The TARDIS is taking you home." She rushes toward him, promising that this isn't going to happen: "I won't let you." The hologram speaks into space: "And I bet you're fussing and moaning now. Typical. But hold on and just listen a bit more. The TARDIS can never return for me. Emergency Program One means I'm facing an enemy that should never get their hands on this machine. So this is what you should do: let the TARDIS die." The last time Rose and the Doctor separated, that's practically what happened. The keys went useless. The Doctor's hologram continues to speak: "Just let this old box gather dust. No one can open it, no one will even notice it. Let it become a strange little thing standing on a street corner. And over the years, the world will move on and the box will be buried." Heaven on a street corner. After all that. I'm telling you, I lost it. "And if you wanna remember me, then you can do one thing, that's all. One thing." And he turns to us/her, beautiful, lit up. Voice clear now, not like a hologram or anything. Just the Doctor. Eyes full, and focused. Like he knows that she's there. Like he knows that we're there. "Have a good life," he says. "Do that for me, Rose. Have a fantastic life." Stories about grace don't mean anything until it touches you. It's a tall order he just issued. And the only one that means anything.

"You can't do this to me," Rose says, staring, and starts into some serious TARDIS abuse, screaming desperately for it to take her back. Nothing happens, and then the engines begin to cool. Rose throws herself at the door -- still looking for her keys in the last place she left them -- and finds herself back in the estates. Back inside immediately, begging the TARDIS to help: "Come on, fly. How do you fly? Come on, help me!"