Jack carried the Doctor's limp body inside the TARDIS and shut the door behind him with a firm hand. In his mind he could feel the TARDIS bubbling away with worry and concern. She could feel it too, and she didn't understand. Was he alive? Was he really alive? Could he be? What had happened? What had Jack done?
"He'll be okay," he said aloud to her. "He's alive, he'll be fine."
He set the Doctor down on the metal grating of the console room floor. The Doctor looked wrong like that, in the borrowed clothes that didn't fit him. He looked like someone had tried to dress a doll. They'd have things right soon enough. They had to.
Running around the console he set the TARDIS quickly into flight. They had to get away, they couldn't be here, they couldn't be found. That would cause far too many problems.
The Doctor would wake up. He was alive, he had to wake up, and Jack would focus on him as soon as they were away. Anywhere, anywhen, just away.
The vortex was enough for now, no real destination, just far away.
Only when Jack was sure they were safely in flight did he move, and when he did he brought himself down to kneel beside the Doctor.
"Wake up," he whispered. "Please."