AN: Set during Turlough's stint in the dungeon in "The King's Demons."
And Tegan wondered that he lied all the time. It wasn't like telling the truth did him any good. Although, expecting that stupid Earth boy to believe the truth may have been too much, he reflected. To him, there would be little distinction between demons and time travelers from another planet. If he even knew what planets were. It made Turlough a little dizzy sometimes trying to figure out exactly how backwards humans' knowledge of the universe was.
He yanked again at his bonds, but the chains didn't budge. Again and again, but all he managed to produce was a clanking sound that echoed, amplified, through the empty dungeon. Ceasing at last, he leaned back on the wall for support and let his head fall back with a gentle thud. That was another thing. If they had gone to a nice, civilized planet with electrical locks he would have been out of there in seconds. But no. These primitive people still had to use cast iron. Which, he had to hand it to them, actually was quite effective.
And Tegan wondered that he didn't like Earth. She said he had a skewed perception and anyone would hate Earth if all they knew about it was from being forced to attend boys' secondary school. There was a part of him, however small, that was willing to concede that she may have a point. It was quickly squashed down. Well, here he was, experiencing Earth again. He still failed to see the appeal. Of course, everyone thought their home planet the best– which excused Tegan somewhat– but for the life of him he couldn't understand why the Doctor was so attached to the place. Tegan took it for granted, but the universe was a very large place and Earth wasn't very interesting. For some reason the Doctor loved the place down to constantly dressing like he had escaped from a cricket match. When they landed on Earth, no matter when it was, they always had to go out and look. He had dragged them out into this castle and even Tegan seemed put off by it. Although Tegan being put off by something wasn't that unusual.
He gave another, half-hearted attempt at his chains. How long would it be before they noticed he was missing? He had been right behind them and he'd already been gone for some time. Rather, how long until they cared he was missing? Tegan would probably vote to leave him, but the Doctor... If the Doctor wanted him gone– and it would have made more sense to Turlough if he did– there were plenty of other places the Doctor could have left him than a thirteenth century English dungeon. He hoped. Unless that was the Doctor's plan. Wait until Turlough was captured and just leave him. Turlough had been uncomfortable with the lack of reaction from the revelation of his deception and betrayal. How much had the Doctor known all along?
He had to get out of here. He yanked at his chains again. "DOCTOR! DOCTOR, TEGAN?"
Nothing. Nothing except the clanking of the chains, what sounded like dripping water and the scurry of rats somewhere beyond his sight, and the silence reverberating in his own mind. Silence. In his mind. No Black Guardian yelling at him for failure. No feelings of hatred originating from an outside source. It was just him.
Glancing around first to make sure no one was really there, he tentatively spoke, "I, I like the Doctor." Nothing happened. He felt a bit foolish talking to thin air (as though he hadn't been doing that for weeks), but he ventured again, "I would be upset if the Doctor and/or Tegan died." Nothing. Only the echo of his own voice. It was true, he realized. He actually would be upset if Tegan died. It was because people dying was always upsetting. Of course. And if the Doctor, the first person to show him– him, Turlough, not pathetic, orphaned, fake schoolboy Turlough– genuine kindness in, well, he didn't know how long, were to die...
Now it came out in a rush, "The universe would be a worse place without him. I never wanted to kill the Doctor and YOU CAN'T MAKE ME." Involuntarily he flinched in anticipation of the psychic attack that didn't come. The only judgment in his mind came from himself. He hadn't felt this free since before he crashed the Brigadier's car. No, before Brendon. No, before the Civil War. He could barely remember that time. He could barely remember that person.
Here he was, for the first time in his working memory, just Turlough: without any lies, any imposed expectations, any need to be anything except himself. He felt so light he almost laughed, both out of joy and out of terror. He had no idea who that was.
Was his entire life an act? Had he spent so long playing the parts he was supposed to play that he had no sense of self? Turlough the soldier, Turlough the schoolboy, Turlough the assassin, Turlough the false friend. None of them were him; he wasn't them. Which meant he had to be someone. A man is made of his actions. All of his actions for years were made by the not-Turloughs. But he, he had still done them. He still acted them out. Which lead to the conclusion that he could not be a good person. He didn't have any friends. He hadn't had any real friends in years. Those that treated him with kindness he repaid by taking advantage. Why should the Doctor come to rescue him?
The only judgment in his mind came from himself, and he couldn't deal with that. He pushed back. Did it matter, really, whether he was a good person? What did that even mean? He was still alive, wasn't he? Albeit sometimes at the expense of others, but that was life. Maybe he wasn't brave (or what he called foolhardy), and maybe he wasn't kind (or what he called softness), but he would always survive. That was all that mattered. The self-judgment pushed back. What, then? A conscious? What did it want him to be?
What, at this point, could he be? Who the Doctor thought he was? Just another part to play. It all was a part to play in the end, wasn't it? Anything he decided to be would be a farce, adopted. He could do worse than living up to the Doctor's expectations. He was already doing worse by doing nothing. Let it be a part, then. He could decide to be anyone. He was no one so he could be anyone. After he got out of here, he could ask the Doctor to drop him off on the next planet and go reinvent himself. Start over. Pick up the pieces. No, smash the pieces to bits. Right. Turlough sighed and looked down at his chained hands. As if he could. As if he hadn't already been trying, already been running from himself. The only difference was now he was forced to confront himself in the face. He stared into the abyss and the abyss stared back.
And Tegan wondered that he didn't open up. Right now, he was so open he was empty. Any remaining remnants she wouldn't want to see. He didn't think he could stand to see her disgust.
Why should he care. She hadn't liked him from the beginning. It bothered him that she had never bought his act. He had done a very good job of being subtle. There was nothing subtle about her. She, she was like an open book and so easy to wind up. She always said what she meant. After a while it got so very predictable. Tegan didn't like him, then. Fine. He couldn't contradict her.
Somewhere outside his section of the dungeon footsteps of unseen feet tramped down the corridor. He froze in anticipation. The door rattled and guards stomped in dragging another prisoner. Turlough slumped back down.
"Right then, here you go. King's orders." A struggling boy was forcibly chained to the wall near Turlough. He couldn't help but smirk as he realized it was the same Earth boy that had thrown him in the dungeon in the first place.
He scowled. "You dare to laugh at me, Demon?"
Continuing to smirk, Turlough straightened up. These were expectations he could live down to.