There is a scrabbling at the door.
So to speak.
Jack looks down, ending a thought with- so Rassilon DOES make good coffee. Huh.- as he reaches out to still Benjamin Pond’s fingers- he has the Pyramid in his other hand… could it be… causing that reaction, he wonders?
Those fingers, they are sudden and fast, scratching and scraping away like some horror in the dark. As he sleeps.
As he dreams.
He shouldn’t be allowed that. But oh well. It isn’t up to him. And the Doctor would have his head.
Rassilon’s little tonic worked wonders… he actually got a bit of sleep after drinking that odd poison the man gave him.
It won’t be long until the guards arrive, he thinks, so he decides, as he’s weaving his fingers around Benjamin Pond’s timorous long hand, to pick up the comm currently outputting to the bug in the Flesh’s jacket. It jimmies a signal from the aether once more, as it has been programmed to do, piggybacking backward onto the Cloud Drop Team’s comm…
Jack doesn’t see Benjamin Pond’s mouth form a single word as the man scrapes and strains against unconsciousness.
Neither does he notice the boiled jellyfish stain of amniotic fluid staining the man’s trousers.