The Doctor takes a break from gorilla-jostling to criticise Daine's suggestion, though he manages to do so with a surprising degree of neutrality, like a pragmatic but pessimistic construction site foreman inexplicably wearing a nightgown. "That'd never work, you'd be," he makes a huffy sound of calculation, gives up, "orders of magnitude out of your depths. Wrong direction to start from." The TARDIS's human form is a kind of non-load-bearing afterthought, as he understands it. Still, it's not entirely worthless as an idea, possibly. Well, it basically is, but it's got the gears turning, nonetheless. A bit more sluggishly than usual, but he's reasonably certain some of the thoughts he's having are precursors to actual ideas. At least until he sneezes again.

Bed forgotten, he sidles for the door with only a little wobbling. "I'll sort it. Callie, you just give me a good shake, if I fall asleep. Especially if it looks like I might be obstructing anything vital."