When the Doctor regained consciousness, he found himself curled up on the ground at the edge of a road. Thick, pale fog surrounded him, but the breeze was cool and refreshing, and everything was quiet and still. He just stayed there for a while, listening to the calm nothing, feeling the solidity of the earth beneath him and the wind ruffling his hair. Eventually he struggled to his feet, his entire body aching, the taste of blood still in his mouth. He reached into his pocket to check the map, but it was gone. Grimacing, he limped onto the road and headed forward.
After a few minutes of walking, the Doctor could just make out something blue up ahead through the fog. Just a glimpse of that familiar color lifted his spirits. Smiling faintly, he forced himself to walk a bit faster until he reached it, his beautiful TARDIS, bright and sturdy and exactly where he had left her. A touch of nervousness twinged through his as he pulled open her door, but then he sighed with relief as he stepped inside and saw that the console room was perfectly normal, and that the TARDIS' power was back on again.
"That's my girl," he sighed, shutting the door behind him and stumbling over to the console. He leaned on it for support, head bowed, hand lingering just above her buttons and switches. It hit him then that he might never understand that place, or what exactly had happened there. He was exhausted and in pain and emotionally drained, but he felt that, somehow, what he had been through had been necessary. He had looked into himself, into the truth he tried to ignore, brush off, or deny. But instead of giving up or breaking down entirely after facing this thing he feared the most—the reality of what he was—he had realized that despite everything he did want to keep going. He was not done fighting.
"Or running," he smiled softly, flipping a switch. "Come along, old girl. I think we've been here long enough."