Grey
He lay on the hard, uncomfortable bed, staring at the wall opposite him. It was a dull grey, like everything else here.
He had protested, complained, even begged. They had still put him here, between all these torture devices, forced to watch as they gleefully removed his coat, taking away the only colour in his bland prison.
He blamed Peri for his predicament; she wanted to go here. The TARDIS of course had obliged her by landing on the most inconvenient spot, probably on purpose.
Sighing he glared at the greyish cast around his broken ankle. He really hated hospitals.