Kenny’s fingers loom nearer and nearer. If he can just reach farther, fly a little harder, wring more blood out his hearts… the floor is close, but the Eye is still warping things. There is a lot of space between them and the ground, still. But, there is also no way of knowing how long the warping will last. Perhaps they’ll both go splat.No more fish custard. No more TARDIS. No more kissing Trouble with a capital Pond.
His finger is close to Kenny’s hand. He stretches, feeling something pulpy give in his back near the stab wound.
Uh-oh. This sort of thing rarely makes the good kind of papers… he clicks the Rose Ring, then remembers. No more failsafe. Oh dear. He could cease to exist, or be turned into spaghetti. Well, pasta isn’t such a bad thing to be, he thinks… unless you’re gluten intolerant.
As he fades in and out of pretty much everything, he careens toward Kenny, groping blindly as the rush of normal gravity drags him out of the front seat of consciousness. The twisting darkness settles over him, and he thinks of Jack.