AN: Just because Kamelion wasn't on screen during all that time, doesn't mean he was completely forgotten about, does it? Also, no, Doctor, you aren't allowed to be happy. At least, not this time. I don't own the characters used or described in this.
Kamelion's corner of the TARDIS was small and tidy. He'd rather not get in anyone's way, if at all possible, and felt it best if the Doctor, Tegan, and Turlough simply forgot about his presence, if only for their own sakes. By himself, he wasn't a threat, no, but, with enough of the villains the Doctor was so wont to run into, it was best he stayed behind, calmly collecting dust and admiring the TARDIS's intricate circuitry.
He was rarely so alone as he liked, though, for sometimes, as Tegan and Turlough slept, the Doctor would seek him out. It wasn't a constant occurrence, of course, and Kamelion had yet to hear his name in conversation as the others passed in the hallways, but he knew very well that the Doctor could get lonely. Of course he could, as old as he was, travelling through the universe with only three constant companions. Not much to live off of. Kamelion could sympathize.
Unfortunately, the Doctor didn't want Kamelion to sympathize. The Doctor wanted to remember.
Kamelion didn't blame him at all for this. He himself was inclined to be overpowered, even enjoying it to an extent as it didn't require him to think for himself, whom he didn't particularly like to be, and, while his current travelling companion was not so devious as his last, he believed fully that the Doctor simply couldn't help himself. Here was this old man, who had known so many people and lost so many friends, and in front of him was an android who could morph into whatever pleased him. The temptation was unavoidable.
The first person the Doctor wished Kamelion to be was a young girl, no older than eighteen, with short dark hair and a pointed chin. Her striped blouse was light, and her eyes had a special sparkle to them. The Doctor's eyes all but began to well up with tears as a light voice emitted from her soft lips, saying a simple, "Hello, Grandfather." This quickly became one of the more common people from his past that Kamelion would imitate.
Many others would be sought out from time to time. An older man with a pencil-thin mustache and a green military jacket, as well as a no-nonsense attitude to boot. A younger fellow with thick brown hair, who wore a kilt and spoke with a thick Scottish accent. A spunky young woman with bouncy brown curls and an inquisitive nature, whose favored outfit was striped red and white overalls and a red shirt. Sometimes, Kamelion would have to alternate between two personages for an hour or more: popular pairs included a very scholarly acting man and woman who liked to question the Doctor, and two young women, one with thick brown tresses and the other with straight blonde plaits, both of whom responded to the name Romana.
There were three that the Doctor asked for only once, for he quickly teared up and turned his head away at the sight of each of them. The first had wild black hair and dark eyes which contrasted sharply against her light chiton. Her innocent smile elicited a look of intense guilt on the Doctor's face. The next had straight hair and donned a militaristic uniform. As she sat in the corner, she slowly began to morph from the figure she already had, ageing at an accelerated speed until the Doctor finally had to tear his mind away in a surge of anger. The third and last was a young boy with an unruly mop of brown hair atop his head. His brightly colored muslin clothing stuck out against the white TARDIS walls, and the blue star pinned to his chest slowly began to crumble and fall apart until the Doctor stormed away saying something along the lines of never doing that again.
The Doctor came back eventually, as Kamelion knew he would, but he focused on producing any image but those three. How sad it was, the morphing silver android thought, that such a kind old man had so many negative memories.
Perhaps, Kamelion thought as the Doctor left him in the corner once more, such a long life was a curse in disguise.
