The Master began to sift through The Doctor's surface thoughts, feeling for the one he wanted, little tendrils, whiskers grazing in the dark. He set his tea on the counter and edged closer, furrowing his brow in concentration.

Yes. I know. But didn't you want to keep me?

The memory of The Doctor's own voice played back to him. "Mm. If that's what I have to do."

Keep me. Like a pet. Well I'm here, aren't I? I'm right where you wanted me! If I were you I'd take this opportunity... or is it compassion that drives you to distraction? Tell me, tell me, tell me.

The thought sounded aggressive, urgent, but he was scared and there was little hiding it. Frantic scratching, trying so hard to stay in control, throbbing drumbeats urging him on.