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The album is lying on the bed, as if someone’s been looking through it, and since Rose and the Doctor are late and he’s bored, he takes a look.
He smiles at the first pictures, obviously Rose as a young girl. Her wide grin and outgoing attitude haven’t changed at all over the years. A younger Jackie is there, too; for some reason, there are no shots of Pete. The settings are all very unlike the Tyler mansion. Still, Jed remembers that Pete was a self-made success story; humble beginnings aren’t a surprise.
Pages turn, Rose grows, and there are many pictures of her with a dark-skinned boy Jed doesn’t recognize, other girls her age, and Jackie. Then, out of nowhere, a poor-quality image of Rose with an unfamiliar man – and himself.
He looks up at the mirror on the wall, then back down at the picture. It’s his face all right, though he’s never seen the clothes (some sort of uniform) before. Nor has he ever seen the other man (leather jacket, strong features, cropped hair: memorable).
With his stomach clenching and hands shaking, Jed flips rapidly through the rest of the album. A few grainy pictures of Rose and the Doctor (one, ironically, taken in front of a Christmas tree), followed lots of images of Rose and Jackie in the familiar setting of the Tyler mansion, with the abrupt addition of Pete and then little Tony. Then masses of good-quality pictures featuring Rose and the Doctor, always close to each other. Finally, a few shots with Jed in them – pictures he remembers being taken, this time. The man in leather is nowhere else to be seen.
When had that photograph been taken? How had he known Rose without knowing her? Was she somehow involved with the memories the Agency had stolen? But she would have said something if it were so, they wouldn’t have lied to him about it, he believes that, has to believe it for his sanity . . .
The bedroom door opens wider, creaking, admitting the Doctor and Rose. Both of them look from the album to him, and he sees something in both their eyes, the same exact expression, though he’s not sure what it is.
“Who is this?” Jed asks, trying not to shake as he holds up the album and points to the leather-jacketed man. “And how did you know me, before, Rose?” He’s aware his voice sounds pleading, but he is pleading, desperately hoping there will be some clean, clear explanation that makes sense. They can’t have been lying to him. He’s trusted them too much, they can’t . . . “Guys?”
Rose and the Doctor trade glances, and when they look back, Rose replies. “It’s a long story,” she says. “And it’s . . . crazy, really. We kept meaning to tell you, but we couldn’t figure out how . . .”
“Tell me what?”
“Like Rose said, it’s a long story,” the Doctor says, and neither of them look scared or defensive, more sad and disturbed. But that’s not really comforting.
“We have time,” Jed points out. It’s a free evening for all of them. “And I can handle crazy. Especially after being around you two for a while. But I can’t handle not knowing.”
His partners trade another glance and take deep breaths, then lead him to the bed, sitting him down on the edge, settling themselves on either side of him. Even in that situation, it’s a comforting position to be in, their hips bumping his, not pulling away.
“It all starts, well, not long ago, but definitely far away, in a relative sense . . .” the Doctor says, and begins to weave the tale.