"Small miricles," he muttered, before getting up, reluctantly letting go of Rose's hand. He needed to leave before he couldn't let go at all. Or didn't want to. Something.
"I'll be back, I need to... see if there's something around that will help me figure out how the heck I got here. Might make sure the Master isn't here, or something." He couldn't make the excuse he needed to do something with his TARDIS, seeing as she was still in his reality, and in London to add to the improbability of that. And right now, this was getting... Oh, who was he kidding?
He was running away for the same reason he wanted to stay and not let go. His Rose was dead, and here was Rose, alive, and well, and... He stepped away from the table, his shoulders hunched under his jacket, torn between the desire to run, and the desire not to let Rose out of his sight at all.