His eyes creaked open, and it felt like he'd been asleep too long.
He was lying on his back, and the light above him felt bright. Every muscle in his body ached, and though he thought about moving them, it was little more than that; a thought. The fingers on his hand curled a little, and he was dimly aware of a bleep of a monitor, and something attached to his arm.
He wondered where he was, but then he realised he already knew the answer to that, like it was hard wired inside him. He was in the TARDIS, and that was good. Good. That was very good.
The light penetrated his eyes and it felt sore, he blinked them a couple of times, trying to pull the world into focus, but there was still a haze, and the action itself seemed to tire him out, so he let them close, and he filled his lungs with a bigger breath of air.
How long had he been here? How long had he been dead or been lost? Something told him, something in the ache of his bones, that it had been a very long time.