"Fantastic!"
Hidden lights flickered, flashed, and finally, after several tense moments, struggled to their illuminative height. Less than two minutes before, they had suddenly and collectively been doused as if by some malevolent magic. The Doctor had muttered, purely out of habit, an oft-repeated phrase for all occasions. Fantastic. He had groped in blindness for his precious ship's console and groped again for a relevant mechanical failure among others irrelevant. Once located, the vital circuit had submitted quietly to the Doctor's restorative touch, allowing itself to be reconnected and revitalized. The great dome that arced above them both, the patient and the surgeon, surged once more to vibrant life, humming contentedly at the triumphant recovery. The mood persisted, unbroken, for at least ten of her master's double heartbeats.
Her approving drone died on unfeeling lips with an anguished squeak of grating machinery. The Doctor winced. The lights went out.
Fantastic.