He doesn't move for quite a few moments, waiting for something to happen - for his other to wake up, for his vision to come back, or maybe even for the TARDIS to wake him up and tell him to stop having these hellishly bizarre dreams.
None of these things happen, though. The dizziness and nausea don't recede, but they don't change, either. His other doesn't move, although the Doctor can feel him breathing. And the darkness all around him prevails as well, and it's not getting any less unsettling.
"Doctor?" He's not sure what to do. He doesn't know this lab well enough to navigate it blindly, even if he weren't feeling like passing out any moment. It's one of the very few times in his life that he'd actually, physically need someone to help him out, but the only person who could help is lying half on top of him, unconscious.
The Doctor brushes two fingers over his other's temple to check whether he's really just unconscious, and yes. His mind is asleep, calm patters changing into one another, no rational thought on the surface.
The Doctor's not staying here, though. He doesn't know how he knows, but there's something in this room that is bad for him. He needs to get to his TARDIS, he needs his supplies, and he needs to get this vision thing sorted out. Slowly, very carefully, he extricates himself from under his other's body and uses the wall as a crutch to stand.
He manages to stay upright, even if he's swaying back and forth rather precariously. If he remembers correctly, the next narrow gap between two tables should be that way. He carefully feels around, knocking a few things over on the cluttered tables, and then finds the gap to squeeze though. One down, Rassilon knows how many to go. He's gonna do this step by step.
He doesn't come very far, though. With every step that he moves towards the lab door, his disorientation grows stronger. It doesn't take him long to get lost, and after that, it's only two more gaps between tables before he suddenly has to grab a table edge and concentrate just to stay on his feet.
"Doctor?" he calls again; maybe he's woken up by now. "Doctor, I could really need your help here."
There's no answer, and the Doctor decides that standing is indeed too much effort, and sinks to his knees. He drops his head, looking at his lap, and he decides that he will stay like this for as long as it takes for the dizziness to go away.
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None of these things happen, though. The dizziness and nausea don't recede, but they don't change, either. His other doesn't move, although the Doctor can feel him breathing. And the darkness all around him prevails as well, and it's not getting any less unsettling.
"Doctor?" He's not sure what to do. He doesn't know this lab well enough to navigate it blindly, even if he weren't feeling like passing out any moment. It's one of the very few times in his life that he'd actually, physically need someone to help him out, but the only person who could help is lying half on top of him, unconscious.
The Doctor brushes two fingers over his other's temple to check whether he's really just unconscious, and yes. His mind is asleep, calm patters changing into one another, no rational thought on the surface.
The Doctor's not staying here, though. He doesn't know how he knows, but there's something in this room that is bad for him. He needs to get to his TARDIS, he needs his supplies, and he needs to get this vision thing sorted out. Slowly, very carefully, he extricates himself from under his other's body and uses the wall as a crutch to stand.
He manages to stay upright, even if he's swaying back and forth rather precariously. If he remembers correctly, the next narrow gap between two tables should be that way. He carefully feels around, knocking a few things over on the cluttered tables, and then finds the gap to squeeze though. One down, Rassilon knows how many to go. He's gonna do this step by step.
He doesn't come very far, though. With every step that he moves towards the lab door, his disorientation grows stronger. It doesn't take him long to get lost, and after that, it's only two more gaps between tables before he suddenly has to grab a table edge and concentrate just to stay on his feet.
"Doctor?" he calls again; maybe he's woken up by now. "Doctor, I could really need your help here."
There's no answer, and the Doctor decides that standing is indeed too much effort, and sinks to his knees. He drops his head, looking at his lap, and he decides that he will stay like this for as long as it takes for the dizziness to go away.