The BBC is the proper owner of the Doctor and Rose. This is the From This Day On version of the Doctor and Rose, taking place shortly after her return from Pete's world. All things invented for the Day On Universe are co-owned by Mary and Amanda.
Rose had decided to check out the TARDIS library. It would be nice if she could manage to absorb a little bit of the techno-spacey STUFF that the Doctor would rattle off at fifty clicks a minute, leaving her to say "what?" and get looked at as if she'd dribbled on her shirt. So, here she was, staring at hundreds of volumes, not sure where to begin when a burst of turbulence shook the vessel, knocking several volumes from the shelves.
With a sigh, the girl bent to retrieve them, glancing at the titles as she did so. The Ancient and High Law of Gallifrey, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, Rassilon's Rules of Order, Harry Potter Book Seven. She paused and started to open it, only to find it fastened with a lock, such as one might find on a girl's diary, but vastly more complex. Blast him. Oh, well, she was glad enough to be back from the other universe and with him that she wouldn't be too miffed. She continued to peruse the titles as she reshelved. The Complete Rules of Tiddlywinks for the Advanced, The Memoirs of Rassilon, Spatial Geometry of White Holes, Photo Album.
Rose stopped. She wondered what sort of photos someone like the Doctor would keep on hand. Eager to learn more about this mysterious man she had tied her life to, she set the other tomes down and opened the picture book.
Images filled the pages, but there were no names. Of course, he would know who they all were. Blimey, some of the blokes were goofy looking! Were any of them past regenerations? Naw, couldn't be. Hang on, that face was familiar. Why was Tristan Matthews in there, but none of the other members of the "crew?"
"Find something interesting?" a voice asked at her back.
Rose jumped. Letting out a slow breath, she turned to look at the Doctor. "Yeah, this. Why's only Tristan's picture in there? Why not Captain Gregg or Blackie?"
The Doctor looked a little disconcerted, then said casually, "That's not Tristan."
Rolling her eyes, Rose shook her head. "I know what he looks like. He played the guitar at Christmas, remember?"
"Of course I remember. Time Lords; unless they are undergoing a rough regeneration, elephants, your mother, and ghosts never forget, but that is NOT Tristan Matthews."
"Okay, who is it?" Rose glared at him challengingly.
She did not expect his response at all. "Me. The fifth me." A slow grin filled his countenance as astonishment overwhelmed hers.
"How many of these pictures are of you?" she held up the album. "A you, that is."
"Nine others."
"Any special reason you looked like 'im?" Rose had to ask.
"Here, let me see that," the Doctor asked, holding out a hand to take the book from her. Opening it, he pointed to the first snapshot, one of a very old man. "That's my original form. Didn't have anything to do with how it looked. I managed to live in it quite a long time." He flipped to a second one, a little man in a Beatles' hairstyle. "Number two. I went into that hoping to have a younger aspect and a sense of humor. So, I got Moe, as in the Three Stooges. I disclaim all responsibility for Three. The Time Lords picked that face for me. Very high-handed of them." He moved to the picture of a white-haired gentleman, then to the youngest one yet, an outrageously dressed, curly-haired man with a grin that revealed many teeth. "I wanted to show out with that face. Do something different, just to show I could. I think I'm somewhat like myself then, now. Not looks, just spirit. Sort of." He ruffled his hair. "Modernized."
"Spot on with that." Rose had to agree, the fourth him was utterly unique, but she liked the fun she could see in his eyes.
"Now, I told you I'd read the book that Jenny's grandchild will write about her ancestors some time back. When I died the fourth time, I fell from a radio tower ... "
"But, you climbed one, when you needed to save me from the Wire!" Rose gasped. That had to bring back hordes of bad memories for him.
"Well, yeah. Had to, didn't I? But, as I fell, I thought, Oh, great, just like Tristan. He was the only one of the ghosts to become metabolically challenged via plunging from a great height, you see. He fell from a mast, not a radio tower, you see. 'Course, there weren't' radio towers when he fell, so if he had to die that way, a mast was his most convenient option. When I woke up, I looked like him." He moved on to the photo of a stout fellow in bright clothes. "Sixth me. I was delirious and having flashbacks to my best enemy, the Master. No, that's not him. He wore nothing but black. His fashion sense was almost as bad as his morals. But, another Time Lord did try to execute me, and that's what he looked like. I was thinking of someone trying to kill me as I regenerated, you see. Very logical, in a fever-dream sort of way. When I'm rude, I think I'm having Six flashbacks. Which is why you should try to keep me from being rude. No one liked him, including my other selves."
The next snapshot was of a horse-faced chap sporting a bowler and brolly, but without John Steed's affable charm. "Not sure what was going on in my head then. I was caught in an energy beam the Rani, an evil Time Lady, had hit the TARDIS with and clunked myself on the head falling down. Maybe I just wanted to be fit enough to not need to drink a gallon of carrot juice." The Doctor shrugged and moved on to an eighth image, one of an Edwardian dressed gentleman who had all the curls of four, but a gentler aspect. "I was completely out of my head when he came along. Almost didn't regenerate, that time, due to a heart probe being stuck inside me as well as an overdose of anesthetic. NEVER take me to a doctor. It might kill me for good. Didn't help things with the Master chasing me, trying to take my body. Don't look at me like that. He wanted to occupy it, like Cassandra did with you. Wonder if she ever met him to learn the trick. Dunno. Well, point remains, I'm the only doctor for myself."
"Right," Rose nodded. "But, I do like his face. He looks nice."
"I was very nice, then. Thank you. Now, I think you know him." He turned to a final, very well-known and loved face. "My eighth self took my companion at the time, Charlotte Pollard, to see Hamlet in the early twentieth century, right before Romana summoned me to the Time War." He paused. "At the end of the war, I didn't want to live, I felt like Hamlet himself, to be, not to be, and so on. Seeing one's whole world die will do that to you, unless you're a princess with bad hair in a movie. When I regenerated following my injuries, I looked exactly like the chap who played Hamlet, Jason something, only with less hair. Not sure why the TARDIS gave me a buzz cut."
"And, how'd YOU get to be - you?" Rose asked tentatively.
"Not sure, but maybe I got tired of people telling us that I was too old for you. Don't know. Nope. Couldn't be that. Could it?"
She reached out to take his hand. "Probably not."