He feels the Doctor's fingers working against his own, but –they are old and arthritic– it only makes him fix his own hands harder against the skull. That stabilized, he glimpses the show from his own corner, watches that precious kernel glow, feels that active resistance and pain leaking like blood onto the tapestry of the Doctor's memories.

He guards her like a treasure. The Master never could make sense of it, of her, her above all the others there had been. But that would not stop him. Penance due.

Say you're sorry, he hisses back.