Chapter Text
Considering…everything…all the adventures he’d been on, and presumably would be on (maybe), with the Doctor, this would have been such a stupid way to die.
Tired.
Achy.
Cold.
Hot.
Hold/Cot?
So tired.
His thoughts chased themselves around his mind. He’d been preoccupied anyway, and apparently hiding it badly, for days. And it had only gotten worse…
Stupid, not foolish. Foolish was the type of situations the Doctor had gotten him into. More fairly, that he had found himself in while in the company of the Doctor. Which is why he was preoccupied. Because nothing had really been said, but at some point something needed to be said.
He wanted to stay onboard the TARDIS.
Home, in any sense, really wasn’t an option. And he wanted to stay with the Doctor…and, yes even Tegan…and honestly, it would have been nice if Nyssa hadn’t…he put that out of his mind. And there had been no real mention of him not staying, not for a while… Wanting to stay might be foolish in itself, deliberately exposing himself to the nonsense the Doctor tended to get involved with—he was chasing his own thoughts in circles, like a metaphorical tail.
Dizzy.
But yes, dying like this would have been stupid.
Nuance.
Stupid vs foolish.
Semantics.
Gotten him into vs found himself in.
Plenty of time to dwell on those, and other things, in bed.
Bed. Comfortable as it was, he was so sick of bed. But he was so…
Tired.
Achy.
Dizzy.
Tired and achy and even more muddled in his mind. It was hard to really focus. Ever since…
He probably wouldn’t have actually died. Certainly, he’d been scared (when wasn’t he) and it hadn’t been pleasant. But they had been, for once, somewhere moderately civilized.
Where after admittedly minor intervention, they’d prescribed bedrest and fluids.
Which was exactly the same as when this had happened before, when he’d actually been on Earth.
Turlough sighed, and maneuvered himself into a sitting position, shoved his feet into slippers, pushed himself vaguely upright, wobbled, carefully donned and secured the admittedly softest, warmest, most comfortable dressing gown he had ever encountered. That and the flannel pajamas, all blessings upon the TARDIS wardrobe.
He ached everywhere, and he was so tired, and dizzy, and probably? hungry, but nothing sounded remotely appetizing. No wonder.
Except for Tea. Which along with dry toast and a little bit of broth was all he’d had for around two days now.
And that was his current objective: Tea. After certain other necessary matters.
He shuffled to the door of his bedroom, catching a glance at the mirror on his way out.
A pink, puffy, parody of himself glared back at him.
Turlough sighed. At least the hives were mostly gone.