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There are photographs on the Doctor's desk. Bill didn't see them much, as she mostly sat opposite the Doctor, but she had looked at them when he had first asked her to come and she had walked past them a few times.
She was curious. The Doctor never made it seem like he even knew anyone besides her and Nardole, but obviously the Doctor has had a very long life with surely very many people in it.
She knew what the pictures showed. A young woman with blonde pigtails laughing joyfully at the camera. A black and white picture of a smiling girl with quite short dark hair and a hat.
Her first thought was that the young girl might be the Doctor's daughter or his sister and the woman a friend, his niece or maybe even his grandchild. But then she realized that the Doctor was a time traveller. These pictures could be of anyone regardless of how old they looked.
She decided that the only way of knowing was simply asking.
So one day, when he made a pause from lecturing her on "astronomy from the primitive perspective of 21st century humans" (his words), she asked him about the photographs.
He leaned back in his chair and looked at her for a few moments (or at least she thinks he did, it was hard to tell with his glasses). "They're memories."
"Yeah, I get that. But who are they? Friends of yours?"
He didn't respond.
"Course you don't have to tell me, but they obviously mean a lot to you. I'm just curious."
"Curiosity killed the cat."
"Yeah, and satisfaction brought it back."
He smiled. "Suppose, I can't argue with that." He turned the black and white picture to her. "My granddaughter, Susan Foreman."
"You're an alien and your grandchild's name is Susan?"
"It's not her birth name. She chose it herself. After the mother of a young colonist and the owner of a junk yard."
She snorted. "Nice choice."
"I know." She couldn't tell if he was sarcastic or not.
"Where is she now?"
"22nd century Earth. She married. Has four kids."
"That's nice. Do you visit her sometimes?"
"I … no."
Bill took the picture of the blonde girl and looked at it. She was tugging a strand of (as Bill noted) bottle-blonde hair behind her ear and the rose-golden ring on her finger was only half in the frame.
"Is that her mother?"
"No, I don't have any pictures of my daughter."
"Who is it then?"
He sighed. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Why not?"
"Because I said so. Now, where were we?"
Bill shouldn't be so nosy, she knows that, but she couldn't help herself but to ask Nardole if he knew the woman in the picture.
"Knowing is a strong word. I'm aware of who she is if that's what you're asking."
"Well?"
"I shouldn't talk to you about that, but ... she's his wife."
"His wife?"
"Yes, that's what I said."
"He's ... married."
"Oh, he married a lot of people. Mostly accidentally or for political reasons."
"You can marry someone accidentally?"
"Yes, but he doesn't consider those marriages real. Only ever the one. He doesn't talk about her anymore, though."
Not anymore? "How come you know of her?"
"I was a friend of his, well, friend/goddaughter/killer. It's complicated. One of her husbands knew Rose personally."
"Rose … She's Susan's grandmother then?"
"No, famlies were different on his planet. I'm not sure how close the relationships were."
"I can't picture the Doctor as a father."
"I can't either, but apparently he had quite a lot of children and grandchildren over the years. Mostly adopted is what I heard. But he only talks if you know the right questions. Well, if he talks at all, you know him."
"Do you just happen to know all this stuff?"
"That friend of mine, the woman I worked for. She was an archeologist. Her favourite subject: The Doctor."
"Why don't you want to talk about her?"
The Doctor's head snapped up at the sudden change of subject. "About who now?"
"The woman in the picture." Not wanting to rat Nardole out, she said "I noticed … I noticed you wear the same ring as her. Is she …?"
Sighing, he finally told her "I took this photo shortly after our wedding." He smiled. "Rose Tyler: the Bad Wolf, the Valiant Child, Defender of the Earth, my pink and yellow human. Met her over a thousand years ago in London in 2005, when she was 19 and working in a shop." He paused and when he spoke up again his voice broke. "Yes, she was my wife, was going to stay with me for... well, I ... lost her."
"Oh … I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Unfortunately, 'sorry' doesn't make things better."
She studied him for a moment. "You still love her."
"Of course. Forever."