So many questions that he's not nearly cognizant enough to answer. Baby steps. He abandons his plan to sit up before he can try it. His brain is still reverberating around his skull; he'll let it settle down a bit. He takes another bracing breath and coughs, which uses muscles in his back he's sure he never had, and the nerve endings there light up for an extra rake across the coals. Just for good measure.

His back-up excuse of 'weather experiment' is lost in the jumble somewhere, and later he will regret not having remembered it, because he was looking forward to using that line. "No," he answers finally, remembering, at least, that he ought to do that. "Er... maybe. Not sure." That's in order, mind. Some sort of order. One of the words sticks out - hospital, yeah, that's a thing. But not, because he hates hospitals. That other thing, though. The TARDIS. He almost blurts that out, but catches himself. She's supposed to be a secret.

Another spiderweb of pain crawls along his back and through clenched teeth, he concedes, "Maybe hospital, yeah."