So before he leans over her, he settles his own weight first, sinking down beneath so he can pull her into his lap.
“If I don’t come round when she does, don’t come in and get me. Just… tell her I’m not a morning person or something. Miles to go, and what. We need to find that Myrtlegull. He needs to be close when Flamina’s future self retrieves the box for us. I’m dying to know why we have to send her back to do it… But anyway, the Bird, the Myrtlegull. I sort of need him.”
The quality of mercy seems strained, in that each quick, precise movement is somehow so horrifically slow, but eventually the Doctor removes his coat and tosses it aside. Then his suspenders. Then his bowtie and shirt. With delicate fingers, now he slides Flamina’s silk gown down over her torso, revealing her bare shoulders, her neck, the curve of her ribs. Finally, he takes her in his arms and gentles her body against his chest.
The Master understands this; they need to be in as much physical contact as possible. The Doctor is good at what he does. Still, he worries they might not…
“Breathe with me, Flamina,” the Doctor says, touching her face. “There’s a girl! Can I come in?”