She was honestly getting used to it by now. It flashed in and out throughout the normal course of the day, so how could she not? Of course, used to it, still didn't quell the queasy feeling bubbling in her gut as the sirens, the ones that sounded too much like air raid sirens, the ones that were only heard by her alert ears, blared their noisy warnings. She, still, in the back of her mind, feared when the darkness fully set in. When she could no longer see. But she chose to accept the darkness, not as a friend, not as a foe, but as a neutral happening. She could not stop it. Could not wish it away. Anytime she'd try to get him to take her to a therapist, or even more a doctor, he just looked sadly into her eyes, those big brown globes of his filled with sorrow. She could do one thing, though. She could tell him. Tell him when the sirens beat against her ear drums. Tell him when everything was going dark. Tell him when she could no longer see the real world. Of course, by then, she would already be unconscious, fearing for her safety in the world she did not know. The world she did not believe. After all, it had made the visions hard to believe, with the fact that after her visions fade, they become delusional, fuzzy, and blurred. It almost felt as if she was drugged, they felt so unreal. She almost completely forgot they happened. But there was always one little mark on her body. Wether it be cut, scratch, bite, or gun shot wound (yes, that has happened before), they still resided on the same spot they were dealt to on her skin. Still admitting the same amount of pain, and registering correctly in her mind. Those were her only reminders. She thought about this, now, as she slowly became comatose, the sirens blaring in her ears, banging against her ear drums. Niggling at the back of her head, was the fear of the darkness completely shutting her out of the real world. The bubbling in her stomach was the untamed queasiness of the situation, the stress of it making her head hurt. She thought, now, as her breathing slowed, what the reminder would end up being this time.
He waited patiently on the red padded armchair in her room, the bright golden swirls soft on his fingertip as he traced them, mind whirling and stomach coiling with worry. He, unlike her, could not push away the disturbing thought that these visions were real. Border lining some dangerous reality- perhaps the underworld, as she puts it- that actually houses living, breathing, creatures. He believed. Oh you better bloody believe he thought it was real. He let his hand rest from tracing the pretty golden swirls and let it subconsciously raise up to his hair to run his fingers through the short brown fluff, the front part sticking up in an unruly manner- the way he, and her, both liked it-, and the back mussed and worried with his constant anticipation encouraged scratching. He blew out a breath, his hearts pounding in his throat, ready to burst. So much for being The Oncoming storm, he sighed, annoyed, inside his mind. He knows he shouldn't be making snippy little comments like that to himself, it was rude and quite simply arrogant. But, that was him. Rude and not ginger. His mind gave up on trying to fix his worrying with snippy and self centered rude comments, and instead caved into the stress. His brow furrowed with worry as he looked at her, sprawled out on her red and golden bed, all pink and yellow. Her eyelids fluttered slightly, fingers painstakingly slowly curling around themselves. He frowned. For all he knew she could be waking up, or possibly having her shoulder torn open by a hell hound. He had always waited patiently for her, wether it be night terrors, her taking millions of light years to get ready, just to show herself to an alien plant, or wether it be when she had offered to be the cool for one night, taking an extravagantly long time, saying she was taking her time 'trying to get the right zest'. He smiled. He had loved the way she made a little trilled noise on the Z. The food had tasted horrible, by the way. Like eating out of a pigsty. He almost laughed at this. But the tiny little thought that popped into his mindset that made him want to punch the wall in anger stopped him. 'But that was before the visions.' He closed his eyes, not realizing how tired he had become. With all the stress of the day, especially with the hard work of recalibrating the TARDIS before she threw a fit. His eyes burned almost comfortably under his eyelids, his mind beginning to wander, his muscles relaxing. It wasn't until he was being shaken awake by the TARDIS excerpting a large amount of ruckus from the control room, did he realize he had fallen asleep.