Then the Valeyard lifts his head up, only to land it again on the Master’s shoulder. The eyes gleam like an ocean of precious stones… but which ship is sailing that sea of flesh now?
“God damn it I said get off me!” the Master quails, scrubbing himself.
“It’s… all right, ‘Kos,” the Doctor’s Flesh says, rolling his shoulders and stretching as he picks up the Master’s adolescent arm from his own adult one and dusts off. “It’s just little old me. I’ve got him under for now. Let’s go to the Cloud.” He claps the Master on the back.