After a moment of having the air knocked out of his lungs by some unfortuitous limbs, the Doctor inhales in a breathless whoop. And then whoops properly, clambering to his feet. What a ride. Everyone's alive, right? He performs a cursory visual check; yep, pretty much, all the same amounts of alive as they were before. Callie is here, and not a ghost. So that's a relief. Things took a turn, but that could have gone so much worse, all told. If he's being honest, and he isn't, being shaken up is a bit refreshing, now that tragedy hasn't struck. Just a bit of crisis never hurt anyone. Good for the circulation.

With less fleeting inspection, Ianto looks a bit worse for wear, though. Maybe a concussion? It's never a concussion, sadly, no one will ever get to be impressed by his knowledge regarding concussions. Perhaps Ianto's just slower on the recovery, poor thing, he's getting on in human years. "The TARDIS," he answers, cheerfully, unhelpfully, diabolically. "My TARDIS. It's a bit different," he takes a break to look almost hurt by Callie's lack of recognition, "But still the same." And quite a bit better, if anyone asks him. At least in terms of the decor. He hadn't realised how good it would be to be back. But then he never does.