“I suppose so.” She clicked her tongue, smoothing the thin plastic film where it threatened to come away from covering the page. “These are all you?”

“Yes ...” There was maybe a wry tug of his jaw at the admission. “Unfortunately, in some cases.”

“Ooh, I like this one ... with the cricket stripes and the blond hair.”

“Ah ... one of my more melancholy stages. Trifle bland, wouldn’t you say?” A hum of the Sonic punctuated the reply, “Much better now, of course.”

Thera pressed her lips together, trying to picture the tall, pale figure in the photo becoming the mass of charming Byronesque curls who bounced about with exactly the same bright-eyed wonder and sparkling innocence that Byron didn’t ... and then she turned the page. “ ... oh my!”

“Hm?” The Time Lord looked up again, and almost at once those bright eyes widened in a different way, as he realised what that next page would have to be. “Ah. Ah, yes.” He coughed, feigning an even more intense fascination with his work. “That one. Angry adolescence, I’m afraid.”

“You don’t say?” There were curls on this version, that was for sure, but the coat looked like he’d fallen headfirst into a giant box of fabric scraps and had to assimilate them to live. “Well, I’ll cast no stones about yours ... It’s not as if you can get to see the awkwardness that was ... mine ...” She trailed off, suddenly very aware of who she was talking to and what she’d just said.

The silence hung for several too many seconds, and a turn in her chair showed those bright eyes looking back, somehow bluer and more sparkling thanks to a mischievious smile. “I could, you know.”

Air dragged into Thera’s lungs with something close to horror. “No - !”

“Sometime in the late BC, as I recall.” The Doctor’s grin widened until it seemed to take over most of his face \,and he gleefully scuttled for the control room with Thera in hot pursuit.