She's secretly glad when he stops practically marching through the TARDIS'S corridors, stopping along with him and watching him lean on a wall and exhale from the corner of her eye - she is, after all, still quite worried about his health, and not getting the feeling that he'd be gentle with himself and accept his limitations because of his wounds, so she's very afraid he's liable to make his state worse.
...all her thoughts scatter like scared pigeons after a cat lunges at their midst when he asks her if this is a ruse in that tone, frustrated but somehow amused, his voice quieter than usual, though. She isn't sure what to even say in response to that, so she says nothing, just stares at him directly and very, very slowly blinks exaggeratedly back at him, her left hand going straight to the top of her toy radio to rub at it and her right hand worrying at the recent scorch mark on her shirt, needing something to do as he seemingly rests leaned on a wall.
Not that he stays resting for long enough, of course. Because why would he. No, he starts fiddling with a roundel and monologuing, then moves on the fiddling with different roundels, not consecutively, almost ignoring the existence of some.
And then his shoulder cracks, and she flinches like she's the one feeling pain from it, a rather wobbly smile carving itself on her face at his subsequent chuckle. Singular focus is something he carries well, and him seemingly voicing his thoughts feeds the still-warm coals of satisfaction making him relax slightly had ignited, sparks of contentment floating through her lazily and mixing with her worry into a nauseating, but somehow also pleasant, cocktail.
...her smile slides right off at the last word he directs to her, the implications of it hitting her like a sledgehammer. She... Freezes up. He... She wants to say he wouldn't expect that of her. But of course he would.
He said she was going to be quiet. She can be quiet no longer.
"...I can't bear to hurt her, please... Please, is there another way?"
Her whisper is warbly, terrified, but there. Both her hands are now cradling her toy radio, as if by shielding the TARDIS's gift to her from sight she can protect the TARDIS herself.
"Would you rather rot in these corridors, with only the supplies you have gathered to keep us alive?"
He turns his head, his eyes seeking the source of her minuscule whisper, and once again a chuckle bumps across the walls in the contained safety of what he has deduced to be a closed loop.
"Your amiable protectee is completely fixed. That is, as completely as she can be during this masterfully executed disaster. Everyone else appears to be occupied, correct? Therefore, I must conclude this architectural meddling is of her own intent!”
He firmly tugs at the roundel in front of him…
“Do you understand what that means?”
…and leaves it, as it won't budge, approaching then the human shaped creature as he cracks his fingers, and stretches his wrists.
"She has no qualms on trapping you here, in derivation from our menial dispute! Would you really trust such an insolent machine? You may attempt an alternative, if you so wish, but I shall stick to what I know to succeed."
He moves to the next roundel, which twists rather easily, and as he removes it…
“Mrrrp!”
…His velvet clothes, once again, begin to collect the shedded fur of a rather joyful cat as she jumps to his chest, and he does his best to catch her with an arm and not drop the heavy object.
“...Ooor that could work, too.”
He gives ‘Lin a look.
His words and his chuckle reverberating through the corridors reach through her and twist, hooking on her incomprehensible caring for him and trying to yank it out to the surface no matter what she herself wants, like a baited fish struggling futilely against the angler's line. She tries to stop this, shutting her eyes harshly so it doesn't get revealed in her gaze, forgetting to breathe in her focus, fingers rubbing comfortingly, compulsively, over the top of her toy radio.
She is perfectly aware of what that means, after all; she doesn't begrudge the TARDIS her choice to trap her in a loop with him - it keeps him both contained and safe, busy and separate from the rest, in such a way that he lacks opportunities to harm himself much and most of the others any. (She doesn't really count herself in the ones capable of being hurt, but she does worry about him turning against the TARDIS, or pushing himself too far, not that there's anything she can do to actually help.)
She can taste him getting nearer to her, so the cracking of his fingers and his voice much closer to her doesn't surprise her, even with her eyes stubbornly shut. She needs to explain, suddenly, about trust and expectations and how she's not holding any delusions about the nature of things, about knowing her wants to be impossible, doomed dreams, but she chokes it all down, because he told her to be quiet, and it's not like she can bring herself to do anything else to help him - she's not going to harm the TARDIS, now, is she. The least she can do is shut up.
...the sound of a cat launching herself onto the Cat Master startles her enough so that her eyes flash open, her sight being met with him trying to juggle an armful of happy feline and a handful of roundel. Her lips twitch at the picture he makes, and she sighs.
"Hello, Demeter! Oh, you're so beautiful, yes, you are, yes, you are!" She can't help but coo at the cat, the tension that had been coiling inside her loosening and leaving just the nauseating, pleasant cocktail of worry, contentment, pride and horror to swirl inside her like a little whirlpool.
She steals a glance at him, then extends a hand to be given the roundel, wanting both to help him with his current predicament of balancing the cat and its weight and return it to the TARDIS post-haste.