The Master freezes again, eyes darting to the spare vial in the Doctor's hand. His impulse is to demand it back... but that sort of desperation is exactly the reaction the Doctor is likely looking for. So instead, he grits his teeth and continues scooping the rest of the hyposprays back into his pockets.

Once he's finished, he gets to his feet, still gripping one of the vials in his own hand. He's itching to use it-- and not just for his foot, but the pressure in his head verging on nearly unbearable-- but he can't. Not in front of him.

"Well, well," he murmurs, oh so quietly, brushing off his clothing with his free hand. "What am I going to do with you?"