The SHARDIS’ body jerks to the right suddenly, as a sudden surge of sunlight pools over her left shoulder, and her fingers cease to claw the air, no longer ripping at her ruined throat and head. A whirlwind spins atop the fractured face. The blue fire wings recede into the remains of the throat, and a blue box grows from the shards of white neck, a strange tree, with six black and white windows, and a little light up top.
The TARDIS pokes from the superheated Flesh like a newly grown head, bursting from the melt- a surfacing buoy.
Bright light spills from the little light atop her blue hull, spinning in lighthouse blinks as she raises the SHARDIS’ feet out from the water and the sea drips from her toes.
Her steps carry her to the shore, and she bends, sifting the water with the fingers of her one good arm.
The water swirls around her rotating wrist. Soon, soon, she pulls up again, and Jack watches as she rises to her full height, her hand clasped around something small and damp. And precious.
A cough sputters from her loose fist, and Jack laughs, his knees hitting sand.