The Doctor grumbles back, and with surprising spirit. Did Ianto get a dog? Well he'd better be responsible for walking it, is all. The Doctor makes a sternly disapproving sound, snuggling stubbornly up to a doorjamb. This doesn't rate actual awakeness, which feels rather less attainable at the moment anyway. The tickle in his throat has solidified into a raw pain, and his head feels like it's been stuffed with syrup-logged cotton. Talking is so much effort, he barely manages it. "Go 'way. 'M trying to concentrate."