John slammed the doors to the TARDIS so loud he could hear it echoing up to the roof. He angrily slammed a lever down to the console and sent his ship sailing off into the Vortex.
"Damn, damn, damn," he muttered, kicking at the console. "DAMMIT!" The TARDIS grumbled. He sighed. "Sorry, girl."
He shouldn't have done that. He really, really shouldn't have done that. What had he been thinking, anyway? Why was being human so hard? Why were hormones and adrenaline and bad impulse control so difficult to deal with?
If he'd been the Doctor he wouldn't have done it. If the Doctor had been him he would have gently talked Bren out of it and put him to bed in the other room and why why why hadn't he just thought before he acted?
John ruffled his hair and leaned forward, gripping the console with both hands, head flopping down. Time. No time, out of time, too much time, not enough time, DAMN!
"I have to fix this," he muttered. Jessica's dying words drifted backforward?