The Master could hear them still, and he crept further back into the corner, his eyes narrowed, and just barely aware that he'd bared his teeth in a silent snarl. He wasn't going to choose something else, he liked this jacket, and he wasn't going to roll over and give it up like some broken pup.
And right now, he'd probably punch the Doctor if he tried to take it off him. Or even came near enough that he could punch him, just on general principle. This was all too hauntingly like the glimpse into a future that could have happened if he'd regenerated when Lucy shot him, instead of relying on his back-up plan.