A laugh startles out of him. Says something about them, probably. "Bet you could perform a lobotomy, Doctor Jones. Not that it's recommended. Ever. But, you know, if you had to, I'd trust you to do it. No one else is getting near my brain."

He groans and moves, just a little, but he's still primarily resting against her.

"I don't think the TARDIS is sleeping. Like the crash gave her a concussion. I can feel it, in a way. Wrestling," he draws out, "from her, to me." He frowns. "Maybe 's'why fixing her systems isn't doing anything." He snaps his mouth, quick. Added to the list of things he hasn't told Martha: his repairs have been primarily useless.