Oh, and I forgot to mention in the previous chapter that this is set directly after the events of GitF, for those who are a tad confused...
"Oh...my head..."
The blue-green lights of the TARDIS seemed sickly and oddly bright as he came to, throat raw and drier than the Sahara. Making any sudden moves was definitely a bad idea, the Doctor decided, his head spinning as he made a pitiful attempt to get to his feet. The dimly lit underbelly of the console glowered at him in the semi-darkness, his ship now humming unpleasantly in his mind, rising gradually in pitch.
"Alright, you've had your fun, now stop it, " he grumbled tersely, trying not to look or feel so alarmed at her protest, another harsh spitting of fiery sparks in his general direction. Dusting his palms down on his knees, he tried and succeeded with getting to his feet, wincing as his bruised bones protested violently against the sudden movement.
"Right..." Ignoring the stabbing pain in his right arm, he flicked a few switches, assessing the damage onscreen. His gaze flitted dismissively over the mess of the console surface, surveying the damage, before a few clicks and beeps turned his gaze back. His eyes widened as he quickly skimmed over the statistics.
She'd blown one of her own circuits just to get his attention! He seriously toyed with the idea of taking the mallet to her for that alone, never mind the many more hours he would be doing repair work. And that meant Rose would been even more unimpressed. Again.
As sudden thought stalled. Wait. How could he be so hard-headed, so stupid? After all...why had his hearts just given out? An tingle of foreboding stole over him and he shifted uncomfortably. For now, the not-quite-appareance of his former self was but a hallucination. He'd had a rough day and his mind was simply and slowly faltering under the burgeoning stress.
He'd nearly lost her. In the actual, could-have-been-stranded-in-pre-Revolutionary-France kinda way, and that other nagging way he couldn't quite admit yet.
He could damn well tell that she was hurting. He wasn't that oblivious. Had seen the concern welling up earlier on, just as he'd hidden that letter out of sight, and plastered that jovial mask on yet again. Of course he was fine.
(Liar).
But she could read him like a book now, because he'd let her in, allowed he to heal this damaged soul. And that terrified him, so he'd backtracked, just wanting to go and lick his wounds. Couldn't she see that he was hurting?
And... what had that achieved? Naught but a broken heart.
The Doctor went rigid, remembering with more clarity what had happened. He could feel that naggin in his mind again. Something was still...not quite right. He could feel it in his gut. Like a shroud of death settling over them, the air becoming stale and-
"No. Oh, no, no, no, no.." He turned on his heels and sprinted into the depths of the TARDIS, hearts thudding in panic, straining to reach her door. Even as he skidded to a halt in front of her door, unease filled him.
He took a tentative step forward -noticed that it was open- and gingerly pushed it open.
He only hoped he wasn't too late.
...Heh.