"That's all right."  She accepts it.  "Well, I'm feeling a bit hungry.  Would you like me to get you anything?"

He - lets out a breath and slumps a little.  "I'm actually kinda fucking exhausted all of a sudden.  I think I'm gonna go check out my bedroom."

"All right.  Most of the bedrooms have a bathroom attached.  Do you know how to find the kitchen?"

"Yeah, I think so."  He rubs his eyes.  "I'm gonna - " he gestures toward the back of the TARDIS, toward where he's pretty sure the stairs the Doctor told him to take are.  "I'll see you in - a while?"

"All right.  I'll plan to check in here in the control room from time to time, if you want to talk."

He gives her the thumbs-up.  "Thanks.  Night."

"Good night."

He heads off: down the spiral stairs at the back of the TARDIS, two doors down, then down the hall second door on the right.  The hallway is similar in style to the control room, curved pillar-accents and orange light and grated floors, but the bedroom he's led to is surprisingly normal.  Almost like a hotel room, with carpeted floors and ordinary-looking drywall and a cozy double bed.  Pleasantly chilly, too, which he likes for sleeping.  He strips off his clothes and burrows under the covers.  Zzz.

He wakes up.

He feels better than he did when he went to sleep but holy hell is he hungry.  Time to look for the kitchen.

There is a palpable difference, once he steps out of the aggressively-ordinary bedroom back into the aggressively-TARDISy hallway, that he doesn't think he can put down to just the wildly different interior design sensibilities.  It's like...

Oh - he looks at the ceiling and smiles and says, "Are you not... around?  Present?  In the bedrooms?"

Privacy's important.

"There's some rooms where you don't look," he says.  (Repeats?  Clarifies?  Says.)  "That's sweet."

He's sweet.

He grins a little, briefly, as he goes on a kitchen-finding expedition.

It's not hard to find!  Like many rooms in the TARDIS, it's located in the interior of its own big incandescent-orange globe, like the dome over the control room, with platforms and walkways suspended inside.  In particular there are three, connected by grated catwalks.  One's full of cupboards and shelves and pantries and miniature refrigerators and one full-size refrigerator; one has a ring of counters, sinks, and eclectic cooking surfaces; and one is surrounded by big silvery vats of unknown provenance.

He shoots a vaguely inquisitive look at the vats but mostly ignores them, making a beeline for the pantry-platform with intent to raid.

Well, a lot of this stuff doesn't look like anything he's ever seen on Earth, but there's a few recognizable things here and there.

Those are probably chicken eggs and that is probably bacon and okay yeah this is recognizably bread, and he's in the mood for a hearty 'murican breakfast.  Eggs bacon and toast.  Nom.

He sits.

And -

 - sits.

He's just.  Gonna feel wierdly in limbo for the next few days, while the TARDIS heals up, huh.  And then Sarah Jane's gonna fly back and pick up the Doctor, and the Doctor's gonna fly forward and take care of the Angel, and then -

 - well, and then this'll be over, presumably.

In a way it already is over, for him, he doesn't really have anything else to contribute.  He's just stuck here because the logic puzzle of getting him and the TARDIS and the Doctor and Sarah Jane all in one place demanded that he be along for this part of the ride.  He's - kinda dead weight, at this point.

But that's okay.  He kinda knew what he was signing up for, yeah?  And it's not like he could've walked out on the TARDIS when she needed his help.

He sighs heavily, and dumps his dishes in the sink, and -

 - goes back into his bedroom and crawls back into bed.

Gets out his phone, which mercifully still has a bit of battery left, and puts on some vaguely ominous ambient music.

And lies in bed.

Now his phone is out of battery, because of course it fucking is.

See if there were something wrong with him in a way that made him sympathetic he'd keep lying in bed being useless and staring vacantly at the wall, but instead something is wrong with him in a way that makes him pathetic and absurd, so he's gonna put his depressive episode on pause so he can get up and charge his phone.

Okay apparently he is gonna keep lying in bed being useless and staring vacantly at the wall, for at least a few minutes.  But not long enough to not make it kind of stupid that he's getting up and charging his phone, in his opinion.

(A gentle prod of affection, at his mind, as he steps out of his room.)