The Master wanted to say something about the fact that they hadn't exactly been the last three Time Lords in existence before –or maybe the fact that the Doctor actually defended her, both of you, no–, but he couldn't manage speech if he was going to get it under control.

His shoulders started drawing up like they'd been caught by a shiver, but he forced them back down, made sure the Doctor was still walled off from it, that he couldn't hear. Leaning back against a nearby wall, he tried to draw deep breaths, to focus in on that recent feat of fixing points in Time the way they did in the natural Universe, of gaining that balance back even if it wasn't lasting.