"Earth again?" Turlough couldn't prevent the disbelief from seeping into his voice as he stared helplessly at the TARDIS coordinates. He snuck a glance through lidded eyes at the Doctor, who was studying the controls with a slight frown, no doubt still concerned about Kamelion. Turlough personally couldn't care less, and wanted to curse the blasted robot for the fear that thrilled through him now. He just had to intercept a signal from a Trion ship, didn't he? He thought back to his disquiet at the Doctor bringing that thing onto the TARDIS with them and how he hadn't spoken up beyond a sarcastic comment; he'd been pliable, as always. Maybe if he and Tegan had banded together they could have properly convinced the Doctor that having a shapeshifting robot that used to be the Master's on board the TARDIS was a dangerous idea. Of course, Kamelion hadn't done anything too disturbing thus far, beyond merely existing and occasionally propping up in the corridors plugged into the TARDIS and mimicking people's voices. But now it was as if the robot had been brought onto the TARDIS specifically to doom Turlough, and he had never hated Kamelion more. 

The Doctor fiddled with the device in his hand, that loathsome tracker. "Yes, that is quite strange, isn't it?"

"At least it's not England." Turlough managed, somehow, to regain some of his usual composure, scowling slightly. Not that the Doctor was looking at him to notice.

The Doctor had never questioned his hatred of the place. He likely just assumed he was Turlough being Turlough; haughty, displeased. The Doctor, and more frustratingly the TARDIS, was irritatingly obsessed with the Earth. He'd never be able to understand Turlough's point of view, the isolation of exile, the hopelessness, being unable to escape the watch of the Trion custodians. The humiliation of it all. He supposed it wasn't the planet's fault that it was the setting chosen to be his personal torture chamber, and it wasn't as if he'd never had any pleasant experiences there; visiting Tegan's grandfather had even forced him to admit he could be fond of it, with the threat of Trion a distant thought. But not now, not with a distress signal of Trion origin looming over him, a portent of doom. 

The Doctor fought evil wherever he saw it. Abstract and insidious forces of evil of course, like the Mara, and technological threats, like the Malus, or a spaceship threatening to explode the universe, and of course the straightforward evils of alien invasions. But he also was opposed to more mundane evils, the ordinary callousness of armies, corrupt institutions, people using power to exploit and cause suffering for nothing more than petty personal gain. Turlough always thought the Doctor was happier when he was fighting a creature or trying to diffuse a bomb, rather than having to contend with that sort of cruelty that pervaded societies across the galaxies. And that was exactly the sort of society that Turlough was from. Worse even; Trion was an evil of the most utterly bureaucratic kind, all systems and draconic monitoring, detached from the plights of ordinary people and viewing the universe as something to be pruned to their liking. In a way they were worse than the Eternals - though Turlough was unlikely to forget the coldness of those ships and the beings who raced them. At least the Eternals had the excuse of being completely unlike the humans they exploited, and not understanding the awfulness of using human minds as entertainment. Trion, however...

He pushed the thoughts away, pushed the memories away. Tried to convince himself everything would be fine. He forced himself to look at the TARDIS scanner, which showed... a beach? He roved his eyes across it, trying to determine what a Trion ship could possibly be doing here. He wasn't familiar with any Trion activity in Spain, though he shouldn't assume anything, no matter how paranoid and thorough in his research he had been when he was on Earth. Nonetheless, he felt himself relaxing a little. Maybe the Trion signal was a fluke... Maybe it had nothing to do with him, and he wouldn't be forced to hide anything from the Doctor. Maybe they'd lost the signal altogether and he and the Doctor could have a carefree day at the seaside. He almost scoffed at the thought.  

The Doctor was still fiddling with the tracker, and Turlough watched, heart fluttering. As the device thrummed to life and the signal started pulsing, he screwed his eyes shut and tried to accept his fate. There was something from Trion out there, and the Doctor was going to make sure they found it.

He opened his eyes just in time for the Doctor to spin around triumphantly, a pleased look on his face. "There we go!" He reached for the control to the TARDIS doors. "We should be able to triangulate that signal with ease, and find a way to settle Kamelion."

As the doors hummed open Turlough's blazer suddenly felt too tight. Luckily he'd already discarded his tie or it would probably have felt like a noose around his neck. He’d spent his years with the Doctor putting that same uniform back on day in and day out. No matter how he’d loathed it, he hadn’t been able to convince himself to wear anything else. Suddenly he was itching to have the wretched thing off of him, assert for the universe to see his individuality and freedom, flaunt it for any Trion officer that might be waiting for them outside the doors. 

As the Doctor was about to head out into the unknown, Turlough impulsively yelped, "Wait, Doctor, it's hot out there. Can't I change into something cooler first?"

The Doctor stopped short, all that boundless energy stalling in one moment. He had his head raised, back turned to Turlough. He could just imagine the Time Lord's mind whirring. He felt like such an idiot. 

He waited for the Doctor to turn on him, eyes boring into his soul. “What a curious thing to say.” He would have his hands in his pockets, with that upturn of voice replacing his usual measured way of speaking. “Why, Turlough, hmm?” He’d say. “Why now? You’ve never been bothered by any of the other climates we’ve visited all this time. Why should this be any different?”  And it would be a perfectly reasonable question, and Turlough would have no choice but to answer, and then it would all be laid bare, his past, the reason for his exile to Earth, his crimes, his people. All of it, and he couldn't face it. He couldn't face any of it.

Instead, completely implausibly, the Doctor turned with an almost humorously relaxed curiosity, eyebrows raised. “Well why not? I could do with a change of clothes myself. Something more suited for the weather.” He reached out smoothly to close the TARDIS doors, and strode towards the TARDIS corridors. Turlough followed, obsequiously.

He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or irritated at the Doctor, who was always like this. Always forgave him, always found a way to trust him, let him keep his secrets without questions. Sneaking glances at him with watchful eyes, but never prodding, never pushing. On the one hand, Turlough would never have been allowed to stay on the TARDIS without this absurd trait of the Doctor's, but he couldn't ignore the fear that one day the Doctor's patience with him would wear thin. That fear tightened around him with every step. His head felt heavy.

Reaching the TARDIS wardrobe - which he'd been shown early on with a few biting remarks about his hygiene from Tegan (and then never used, which she always assumed was to spite her) - he tried to remember what humans wore to the beach. He picked out a shirt that looked like something he'd wear, white and stripey. He rifled through a drawer and pulled out yellow socks. Sure. In terms of trousers, it felt like the TARDIS was taunting him. Surely someone who'd travelled with the Doctor had worn shorts before? His mind wandered for a moment to wherever the Doctor was now, supposedly changing his clothes. Turlough had hardly seen him in anything but his beige ensemble. He couldn't imagine the Doctor in shorts, certainly. That would be completely wrong. After some distracted searching, Turlough found a pair of blue short shorts that would barely reach past his underwear. He contemplated for a minute, huffing out each breath.

Then the Doctor was knocking at the door, "Come on Turlough, this signal can't wait forever!"

Can't it, please? He thought desperately, and then groaned softly to himself. Hopefully the Doctor could restrain himself from commenting on the shorts..."Coming, Doctor!" he yelled back and changed as quickly as he could, flinging each piece of his school uniform out of sight with contempt. Maybe he could come back and burn it all later... He grabbed the nearest pair of shoes and pulled them on, before joining the Doctor out in the hallway.

"Well, isn't this a nice change." The Doctor said brightly, surveying Turlough and he was ready to bite back sarcastically before he looked at the Doctor's outfit and realised the insufferable Time Lord had hardly changed a bit, merely exchanging his usual coat and sweater for a woolen vest, as if that was better suited to the warm climate they were about to enter out into. 

The two men stared at each other for a moment in silence. Turlough wasn't sure whether he wanted to know what thoughts were behind the Doctor's eyes or not, but he couldn't convince himself to avoid his gaze. 

Before Turlough lost all resolve and told the Doctor everything, here, now, before questions started being asked about Trion, or anything Turlough wanted to avoid, the Doctor cleared his throat. "Come on then , Turlough." he said measuredly, and strode towards the console room, retrieving the tracker from his pockets as he did so. 

Turlough strode along after him, trying to get used to new clothes after so long in his old familiar ones. His legs felt so exposed, as exposed as Turlough was soon to be. Whether by an end to the Doctor's tolerance for his secrets, or directly by someone from Trion potentially on the other side of the TARDIS doors. The Doctor opened those doors once more and pulled his rolled up hat out of his pocket with his free hand, gaze fixed on the tracking device as he placed the hat on his head and crossed the threshold out of the TARDIS. Turlough felt sick. He knew that there was no avoiding his fate any longer.

One way or another, he was about to be found out, and the Doctor would never look at him the same. 

Turlough followed the Doctor out into the Lanzarote sun, dread settling over him like a thin layer of frost.