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The cats were still milling in the alleyway when Lance dared to look out the window again. Turlough was standing in the doorway of his closet, one hand in his hair, the other holding the door open, staring into it as if it might suddenly show him the meaning of life. Or, at least, the solution to the current problem. Lance turned from the window and sat on the bed.
"I always knew he'd come back," said Turlough, almost to himself. He didn't turn to look at Lance. Lance had to be content with watching Turlough from the back. He was skinny underneath the pale, dishevelled uniform, his close-cut hair a faded red, hands bony and long-fingered. Lance wondered, not for the first time, what kind of life Turlough had had after leaving the Doctor. And what kind of life before.
"Turlough," Lance said.
"I didn't want to spend my life waiting." Turlough turned to look at Lance now, and he looked so human, the way the Doctor sometimes looked human: angry, tired, frustrated. It was easy to forget that Turlough was, technically, an alien. An extra-terrestrial life form, with hard blue eyes and red hair.
Lance got up automatically. "He came back."
"By accident," Turlough said with a sneer. "It's always by accident with him."
This was true; Lance smiled and crossed the room. Gently, he prised Turlough's fingers from the door. "You're mad at him," he said. He kept his hand on Turlough's, fingertips touching fingertips, not caring now if Turlough was an alien. He hadn't cared when it was the Doctor. Turlough didn't move.
"Wouldn't you be?"
"I don't know."
Turlough finally shook his hand free of Lance's and moved away, walking over to the bed. He was looking away from Lance again, staring at the wall between the two windows, right above the bed. "He didn't leave me, you know," Turlough said. "I left him."
Lance didn't know what to say to that, so he just went to Turlough again. This time, tentatively, he put his arms around Turlough's waist. Turlough rested his back against Lance's chest, and his hands over Lance's hands. Lance bent his head to kiss the exposed skin on the side of Turlough's neck. It was comfort, he thought, of a sort.
"We don't have time," Turlough murmured.
Lance laughed, just a brief jolt of his chest, and kissed Turlough's neck again. "The cats aren't going anywhere."
Turlough's response was to link his fingers with Lance's and let Lance go to town on his neck. Lance kissed and licked and sucked; Turlough made no sound, but his breathing got harsh and ragged. Lance smiled into the kisses and squeezed Turlough's fingers lightly.
"He needs looking after," Turlough said after a while.
Lance straightened up and pulled Turlough around until he could kiss Turlough's mouth. Turlough kissed back hard, suddenly grasping Lance's waist firmly. Finally, Lance pulled back and ran one hand through Turlough's hair, smiling. "You think I don't know that?"