As the old woman works, the Doctor looks away, leaning back on his arms, a lazy teenager lying in the disguising rugs and carpets that pass for high grass in the Time-Locked storage he’d tucked away forever ago.
“When do you think to do it, my Lord?” she wonders aloud, slipping the question in between the circles she rubs along his spine and shoulder blades. “You can’t be putting it off forever, now, child.”
“Did I wait too long, old woman?” asks he, and a smack across his sturdy back echoes for his troubles.” I take it that’s a no then. Well, it might as well happen now.” He sticks a hand in his impossible pocket, comes out with a strange silvery-tan rod with a green light at the top. His sonic, she supposes. “There’s a linkup that has to happen; let me see if the pawn’s in position and then you can spread the stuff around, make it look nasty for the audience. Meet me back here, head in my lap at six of the clock, do you hear me, old thing? I’ll make this easy on you if it kills me.”