The Doctor didn't keep many souvenirs of his long life. He knew the TARDIS kept the rooms of all his companies, past and present. He knew the rooms would still hold all their items, but he would never venture in them. He had no problem remembering them, he just wanted to be able to do it in his own way, without glaring reminders around him.
The one thing he did have though was a photograph. It was battered and worn and had been in his pocket for a while. Jack and Rose had convinced the mass of companions that he had gathered to pose for a photograph. They all had, with him in the middle and he was so happy. They had developed the photo quickly and everyone had taken one. Everyone but Donna. She couldn't have one, but Wilf did. He had taken it and the doctor was sure that the man probably carried it in his wallet.
He rubbed this finger gently over the creased faces of his friends and companions. He knew they all had a good life now. He had checked in on them all. Well all apart from Rose. There wasn't any need to check in on her, the duplicate of himself was surely taking perfectly good care of her. That photo brought a small smile to his face, he couldn't help it. All these people he cares about were all there, safe and happy.
He closed his eyes and placed the faintest of kisses to the photograph, before he carefully placed it back into jacket pocket and patting it. He wasn't often too sentimental, he couldn't be, but keeping that group close to his heart was something he couldn't help. They were special and he was damn well not going to forget them.
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