But her fingers snap up, and smear his query like a smudge of unlucky insect.
“...Jack is still at the Indso Tys, probably lying where the Doctor left him when he pulled us into the Land of Fiction. You should go and fetch him. The Valeyard got a nasty surprise when he leaped into the Flesh the Doctor prepared for him. He should be around somewhere near the Pyramid Corridor’s Mnrva exit. Fetch him too. I’m going back in. To test a theory.”
Rassilon’s eyebrows slide a fraction upward, despite himself. He feels his chin degrade in rotation, somehow, betraying his surprise.
“You should be used to his version of schooling by now,” Borusa quips hoarsely from her crèche, her diminutive digits tight and serious on the large inner handle as she shifts to close it again, “... The Doctor always takes us for quite an education- and what do we get in return? That boy, forcing us to sail strange seas in a rickety boat! I don’t even know what a boat IS!”
Sparkle-eyed with delight, she sticks her blonde head out and stares at him, then slaps his hand with a blue post-it before shutting the door completely.
Rassilon sticks the now post-it adorned free hand in his mouth and sighs as he walks away, thinking he may never bite down on his laughter so hard as on this day, at this resolute moment.
Against his chest, Flamina snuggles into his cool warmth, nuzzling closer in her sleep.
His smile splits him down at her with fingers and teeth set on preventing his lips from parting, trapping his tongue and a building desire to snort in the back of his nasal passage; it simply wouldn’t do to wake her now.