There was an odd expression on his face as he watched her step lightly through the console room, fingers idling against the organic structure of the time rotor. It was a selfish kind of pleasure he derived from hearing those five little words—still feels like being home—and he imagined it always would be, he would always be selfish when it came to Rose. The Doctor leaned a hip into the side of the control frame, the ghost of a smile lingering at his mouth as she neared.
“Does it?” he asked, voice airy with nonchalance, even when it was anything but. His attention quickly disengaged for the various bits and bobs of the terminal beneath his fingertips, a twist of the wrist here, a punch of a button there. It wasn't long before the ship was stirring back to life with a low growl and steady electrical hum of machinery. The two of them were soon bathed in proper lighting, the metal grating at their feet shining with the colorful, albeit artificial luminescence.
The Doctor cleared his throat, trailing his hand from the controls to stuff deep into transcendental pockets. “Your room is where you left it, if you wanted to poke around. Still two rights and a left down the third corridor,” he offered mechanically. It was wonderful to have her back on board, but it felt more awkward than natural now that so much had transpired between them and he was still giving a valiant effort to shake it.