She hadn't lied about the little brother.
Rose also carries a child. She knows it against the pattern-haunted dark of her eyelids. It fattens within her, unbidden, impossibly foreign.
It's not the Doctor's offspring, not Mickey's. If it were only that simple. Neither of them had ever been inside her unguarded.
Oh, but what had.
Rose remembers golden light and an awareness larger than all parts of her. This embryo cannot exist outside. Will it fall into nothingness? Will the world go mad?
In the mornings, she vomits stardust.
She dreads the birthing.