The Master groans, because flailing will do no good with an obviously affected person. “Oh no, you shit! You shit! Angels and Ministers of Grace preserve-”
There is that signature <bamf!> sound; the Master disappears.
“Have a good time wherever it takes you, Kos,” the Doctor breathes as he turns to straighten Rassilon’s purple robes on his shoulders. “Now you have been a very naughty boy haven’t you, Dallyrasse? I wish I could stay and help you, but I can’t. I have to protect her from him. Which means you’ll have to improvise. Just know this- that man, your former pet, is coming to give us our medication, so you’d better snap out of it or I will be very cross. Now wakey-wakey!” He flattens his palm and smacks Rassilon twice, once for each cheek. “Think of Tzipporahkozceskatilya, of Cossie, your wife. And remember to breathe, there’s a good bloke!”
Rassilon whispers something, but the Doctor clicks the Rose on his own ring, and goes.