He's already halfway to the TARDIS when the question hits him. He doesn't know what compels him to stop and turn back to her. He really doesn't know what brings him back to her. But something does. He has to tell her something. He has to tell somebody.
"Do you know like we were saying," he finally replies, "about the earth revolving? It's like when you're a kid, the first time they tell you that the world's turning, and you just can't quite believe it because everything looks like it's standing still. I can feel it. The turn of the earth."
He takes her hand. Something concrete, something real.
"The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour. And the entire planet is hurtling round the sun at 67,000 miles an hour, and I can feel it."
The words spill out of him, and no one is more amazed than he. She doesn't understand; she can't understand. She doesn't know what he feels, and nothing he says can make her see, but he tells her anyway. The words have been stuck inside his throat ever since he left Milliways, and they demand to be said.
"We're falling through space, you and me. Clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go..."
And he does. He releases her hand, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid. The implication was clear. She has a planet; she has a home. Someplace she belongs. But he doesn't. His planet let him go, and now he's spiralling away, thrown to the winds. And he can't do that to someone else.
He makes his decision.
"That's who I am. Now forget me, Rose Tyler. Go home."
The Doctor leaves her. He returns to the TARDIS. Alone. He has to.
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"Do you know like we were saying," he finally replies, "about the earth revolving? It's like when you're a kid, the first time they tell you that the world's turning, and you just can't quite believe it because everything looks like it's standing still. I can feel it. The turn of the earth."
He takes her hand. Something concrete, something real.
"The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour. And the entire planet is hurtling round the sun at 67,000 miles an hour, and I can feel it."
The words spill out of him, and no one is more amazed than he. She doesn't understand; she can't understand. She doesn't know what he feels, and nothing he says can make her see, but he tells her anyway. The words have been stuck inside his throat ever since he left Milliways, and they demand to be said.
"We're falling through space, you and me. Clinging to the skin of this tiny little world, and if we let go..."
And he does. He releases her hand, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid. The implication was clear. She has a planet; she has a home. Someplace she belongs. But he doesn't. His planet let him go, and now he's spiralling away, thrown to the winds. And he can't do that to someone else.
He makes his decision.
"That's who I am. Now forget me, Rose Tyler. Go home."
The Doctor leaves her. He returns to the TARDIS. Alone. He has to.