“I don’t care! Do whatever you want! You lot are determined to undermine me at every turn! It reminds me why the Doctor left! And god damn I wish I could! But no, I had to try and be RESPONSIBLE!” the Master screams the last little bit, getting up and wrenching his foot out from beneath the Doctor’s back -where he’d been propping him- before brute forcing the door panel and stomping out like a toy soldier on holiday. Once he is gone, Pasmodius and Rassilon are kneeling beside the Doctor, one man pushing him down with a hand to the chest, the other gently raising him up.
“I’m… all right, really we haven’t had much food and just need a little rest. After using the Board for so long, some sleep will do nicely, thanks. I’m all right.”
“I’ll take him.” Rassilon murmurs to Borusa, and a crackle of pleasing fire surges out from the hand he’s placed on the Doctor’s spine, rushing through the nerves, filling them with a handsome sensation, similar to the cold-hot melt of ice cream being fried. To the Doctor, he says simply, “…there you are. A taste of the immortality you so despise. It will help you to sleep.”
“Oh my dear word, is the boy all right? Someone should get his wife in here!” worries Pasmo, cringing and wringing his wrinkles as if they were full of dirty mop water.
His hands wrap around one of the Doctor’s arms, while Rassilon takes the other.
The Doctor just shrugs, slumping on his feet and digging in, half-heartedly. “I’m all right, I’m all right, really I am! But you’re not going to let go of my arm, are you? Humph. Well I never!”