TURLOUGH'S TALE
Chapter Sixteen
The Doctor and his captor are so focused on one another that I feel free to peer again into the main portion of the igloo. The Doctor is wearing his multipocketed coat but not the parka; I look around for it but don't see it. The other man isn't wearing it; he is clad in something resembling a wetsuit, obviously insulated against cold. I do spot the bundle of long flares lying to the side. I can't tell whether the Doctor is handcuffed or tied, and if the latter, with what. There is no sneaking up behind the other man; he is against the wall. The two of them are on the near side of the small fire that blazes in the center of the room. Smoke rises from it to the small hole at the top of the igloo. I am surprised that the whole structure seems to be made of hard-packed snow; I have always thought igloos were made of ice. Be that as it may, I cannot enter unseen… or unheard, since I would have to climb up from the entrance to get into the room.
Perhaps I can draw the man out. I reach into my pocket and pull out a flare. Activating it and throwing it into the room will do no good. I back out of the entrance and from the side, throw a flare just inside, then take a few steps around and wait for the man to come check it out. When he reaches the flare, I throw the next one, past the entrance, outside of the igloo. As he goes after that one, still carrying his bow, I dash into the igloo and climb up into the room. The Doctor is startled. "Turlough!" I stoop down and am relieved to see his hands not cuffed but just tied. Now I'm glad I didn't give my switchblade back. I quickly free the Doctor and as I have spotted his parka on the other side of the fire, I grab it and am in the process of helping him on with it when the other man returns, instantly understands what's going on and aims the bow at us. I throw an activated flare at him; it doesn't knock him down but he does lift the bow to protect his face, and I rush him with my long flare, which does knock him down. "No!" cries the Doctor, pulling me off of the man, taking the bow away from him and flinging it away but protecting him from further assault. "You don't understand!" He adds, to the man on the igloo floor, "Are you all right?"
"I'll live," says the man, ruefully, and they both get a chuckle out of that. The Doctor is right; I understand nothing. I watch the Doctor help his enemy, or is it his friend, to his feet and dust him off, which makes the man laugh again. "I still don't believe a word you say," he declares, and pushes the Doctor down to the frozen floor, pinning him there with one foot on his chest. I'm pretty sure the Doctor could get up if he wanted to, albeit to what fresh assault I don't know, but he lies there, still smiling, as if he hasn't quite yet adjusted to his change of circumstance.
"What is so hard to believe?" asks the Doctor. "Danny, everything I have said is true. I'm a Time Lord. My TARDIS is here. How would I even know what a TARDIS was if I were not a Time Lord? I know you've been stuck here a long time and have been unable to make a go of it. I know you're not yourself."
"I've done fine," interrupts Danny. "And I am so very myself. You have no idea. Why do you think I left Gallifrey?"
"No idea. And no, you haven't. You're miserable. You are so miserable you want to hurt everyone, and you're directing your misery at one person now, someone who doesn't deserve to be hurt anymore. You can't let it go, can you?" The Doctor tries to sit up and gets booted back down. "You don't have to do this."
"Oh yes, I do, Doctor, or whatever your name really is. Yes, I do. I have nothing left but my rage. Don't take that away from me!"
They are both ignoring me. I don't generally mind being ignored; it's the safest thing that can happen to me. I don't like it now, though. Am I supposed to let this Danny person - apparently, as the Doctor speculated, a renegade Time Lord trapped on a cold planet with only his own hatred to keep him warm – murder the Doctor (isn't that my job?)
"I can take you away, anywhere you want to go," gasps the Doctor, as the boot has caught him in the chest again but harder than the first time. "Why do you want to stay here and stew? Your rage isn't an asset. It's a disease. It's killing you."
"Good. The sooner, the better." Danny drags the Doctor to his feet and raises a fist to knock him back down but the Doctor ducks and pushes Danny over the lip of the entryway. I slip my arm through the cord securing the long flares - the cord that secured them to the Doctor is not here – then grab the bow and slip my other arm through that. The Doctor is at my side in an instant. "Go back," he says. "I'm not done here." Upon my look of disbelief he adds, "I'll be fine."
"You won't be fine. He'll kill you."
"Do as I say, Turlough!"
A moment later it's academic, as Danny has scrambled back up into the room and is grabbing the Doctor by the throat, ignoring me altogether.
"Go!" croaks the Doctor. How can I go? I can't do much good with all this stuff hanging off of me; I can't even lift my arms fully but I can reach around Danny's waist and wrench him backwards. He topples onto me, pulling the Doctor back onto him. I hear the Doctor take a sharp breath as he is released and I feel Danny go limp. "No, no!" groans the Doctor, pulling Danny off of me, and off of the fixed arrow that has pierced him. In horror I get that monstrous, bloody weapon off of me, stand up and back away from it and from them, the dying Time Lord and the anguished Time Lord who can only watch him die. This is what it's like to kill someone? I want no part of this. I want my old life back. I'll suffer whatever Brendon Public School flings at me; I'll be for real the innocent boy I pretend to be.
That is, of course, impossible. The Black Guardian will not let that happen. All right then. Let him kill me. Then it will be over.
I sit down on the lip of the entryway and throw up for a while. The Doctor is busy holding Danny while he dies. They are both speaking, and then only the Doctor is. After a while the Doctor comes to me and stands watching me puke, then hunkers down to offer me his fancy hanky. I am about done, anyway, but I take the hanky and wipe my mouth, then fold it up and return it to him. "Why do you have this anyway? Where does it come from?"
"Oh," says the Doctor, soberly, "a grieving widower." He doesn't pocket the handkerchief, but takes it outside and washes it in the snow. Then he tucks it away. I follow him and we begin to head back to the house, guided by his own cleared path and, eventually, activated long flares.
"Doctor, why didn't he regenerate?"
The Doctor sighs and doesn't look at me as he answers. "That was his last regeneration. We only get twelve, you know. He's been here longer than we thought. He regenerated here on Carbalexina three times. After the first time, he was disoriented and left the TARDIS; he never found it again. It seems he never found himself again either." The Doctor stops and looks at me. "Are you all right?"
"No."
"No, I didn't think so." He puts his hand on my shoulder. "And you shouldn't be. I couldn't be your friend if you were all right." He begins to walk again. "I'm not all right either."