“What’s going on? If this is the TARDIS, that shouldn’t... I didn’t ask you to... do that! Open that ...door back up... right... now...”
“It isn’t though, is it? I’m so glad! Nobody ever notices me...” a giggle bubbles from nowhere, in a vaguely feminine tone.
The voice is slightly nasal, scratchy, a bit young. Taking a long, deep breath, the Flesh Valeyard forces eyes he didn’t know had closed back open again. To look.
But his head lolls to the side, too much, the effort. Too much.
The floor looks... so very very white now. Like a river of milk. Is that a hand attached to it, crawling along his leg like a Lilliputian? How bizarre.
“You said, he could survive if he wanted to,” the voice adds, coming closer now. It’s almost as though it’s beneath him, sounding like a ripple of water as it does.
But he mustn’t sleep. He can’t sleep. Not with her in here. It’s not safe... not safe for the...
“I’ll take good care of you, and your baby, Doctor...” The voice smooth, so very close now; it must be in his ear. Is it a fly? Well, it isn’t very nice, but perhaps it will... you know...
His eyelids are fluttering now, dumpily.
“You’re so very pale, Doctor,” the voice soothes. He feels... lifted, as though his weight is being born by something strong. By Her. Hadn’t she said she was? Strong?
“That’s right, Doctor... it’s me, Jennifer. The Flesh, from the factory.” The voice is softer now, more gentle, like a pillow over the head. “I’ll take care of you. Then, when you’re better, when you’ve had your baby, you can take me to Rory. The Valeyard promised me! He came and got me, after you murdered us. Rest now.”