'Locum Doctors' - NuWho version

Ian and Barbara's faces when they see Jodie explaining Susan is her Grandaughter makes An Unearthly Child a rather cheeky but fun choice

The Doctor looked at the television in amazement. Rose had never really seen him so stunned. He was normally so full of energy, unable to sit still even for a moment. Not now. He was totally absorbed, and she understood why. The man on the screen was him. His hair a bit longer, his skin a little darker but it was the Doctor. And then he spoke, “my friends,” and it was a voice like fingers down a chalkboard to Rose’s ears, not the Doctor’s usual warm Northern tones. “My dear friends,” Salamander continued, “When I was a child, I was often asked “what are you doing?”. Back then it was an interrogation. Usually someone wanting to break my fingers for some assumed crime. Well... not always assumed. I did what I needed to to survive. But today... when asked THAT SAME QUESTION... it’s because I’ve done something so YOU can survive!” There was applause. “When asked “what are you doing?” I can say “feeding the world”, I can say “making peace”. I can tell you that the wheat grows AS HIGH AS MY SHOULDER in the Ukraine. That they are growing bananas in Ireland. That even in Guatemala they are growing grapes fit for wine! I imagine me, that child in the slums and I imagine telling him of those grapes. PAH he would not believe me. But YOU believe me, din’t you?” The Doctor looked up at Kent.
“He’s not me,” he sounded almost relieved.
“But your face, your build... you ARE him.” Kent insisted. The Doctor started to pace. “Guatemala? There’s a hint of something else in that voice... Southern States of America?”
“Very good Doctor! His mother was from Kentucky,” Kent looked on. The Doctor muttered under his breathe, “my dear friends” no... not quite “my dear friends”” Rose was just a little shocked. He was getting more and more like that Salamander’s accent.

Ah. Nightmare in Silver, need I say more.

I’d do the opposite - no Daleks, something “classic Doctor” like Quarks something that needs “the Doctor” to defeat, not “the Warrior”. 
Set it right before “no more”, and scaffold in his eventual acceptance of being “the Doctor” again in Day of rhe Doctor

Never mind that I want to see Susan’s face

12 in Earthshock. Particularly after Face the Raven. Would 12 be able to let history take its course or would he try to change the past regardless of the consequences? Alternatively, 10 in his TLV phase would be just as interesting.

9 in a 3rd Doctor story could be very fun and a little touching. A chance for Rose to maybe meet all of the Doctor’s past friends and learn more about him; the light-hearted bickering between 9 and the Brig; and maybe at the end, sadness that those comparatively simpler times for the Doctor are well behind him.

11 in a 2nd or 7th Doctor story seems like it’d be really interesting - maybe exploring an arc where 11 tries to prove to Ace he’s not the same manipulative chess master she knew, but he ultimately fails on all accounts - but to me that seems a little obvious. I think it’d be really interesting to see 11 swapped into something like The Caves of Androzani or Logopolis, stories where he knows he has to die in order for events to proceed as they should, but obviously knowing he can’t given where he is in his regeneration cycle. I could totally see that fitting in extremely well with the timey-wimey stories of 11’s era and it seems like the sort of conundrum one of the Doctor’s enemies would love to put him in.

Rarely did anything out of the ordinary ever happen on Dulkis, let alone something that people would consider “strange”. So it would come to shock the native Dulcians that so many strange things happened nearly at once on an island far off the coast of the less than creatively named “Dulkis City”. This lack of creativity was a feature of Dulcian society, which is why naming the island “the Island of Death” caused something of a stir over five hundred years ago. Today that island, which lived up to it’s name, had seen not one but four groups of visitors.
One group, a small unit of science students under the tutelage of a Scientician named Leng. Another group renegade danger tourists lead by a rogue named Cully who was as incorrigible as he was insufferable. The third and fourth groups were alien to Dulkis, one a warship and the other far less mundane.
It was a Police Box.
Or rather, it was a miracle of science called a TARDIS under the less than accurate command of an equally roguish and incorrigible Time Lord named the Doctor. If asked, many would also call him insufferable. Now in what he considered, inaccurate as he would discover one day, his twelfth incarnation the Doctor was currently travelling with one Clara Oswald. The doors of rhe TARDIS creaked open and two arms tentatively exited. One was dressed in red velvet and was holding a glowing blue rod. This was a Sonic Screwdriver, a universal tool favoured by the Doctor due to it’s entirely inoffensive nature. The other arm belonged to Clara and was dressed in a practical leather. She was holding a vaguely pistol-like object, this was a Geiger counter.
“IMPOSSIBLE!” roared a firm Scottish voice as a figure that resembled nothing more than a gracefully aging rock star burst out onto the sand of rhe island.
“You keep using that word,” Clara said, “perhaps it doesn’t mean exactly what you think it does.” Clara was a petite and beautiful woman who despite her size was a dynamo of energy and creative wit. Where the Doctor tended to leave confusion in his wake, Clara, as fitting her occupation as a teacher, left understanding. Or at least tried to.
“You saw the readings! Deadly levels of radiation. Than POOF! All gone. It’s....”
“Impossible?” Clara said impishly. Baiting her friend, knowing he could not resist correcting her. The Doctor’s expressive eyebrows performed a series of stunts that no human could match. “Well, it wasn’t natural.”
“HALT” someone called out, slightly muffledly. The Doctor smiled, people telling him to stop usually meant something interesting was going to happen. In this case he wasn’t wrong.


“Scientician,” the owner of the now unmuffled voice, a Dulcian student named Gallus Prink, called out, shepparding the Doctor and Clara into the lead-lined lab. “What on Dulkis!” Lang cried out, unable to keep himself in check. The Island was well-named, it was Death to go there without careful preparation and anti-radiation suits like that being worn by Prink. And now before him were two Dulcians dressed in wildly inappropriate ways. The taller of them certainly should have known better give his age.
“Are you in charge here?” The Doctor interrogated. Scientician Leng nodded sedately. “Good! Now, tell me. What in the name of sanity are Dulcians doing messing around with nuclear weapons!” Clara rolled her eyes. Captain Subtle strikes again.

Time passed and arguments ensued.
“So YOU TELL ME. What happened to the radiation!?” The Doctor’s volume has steadily increased as the placid stubbornness of the Dulcians had plodded along, unable to keep up with his lightning fast intellect. Clara hushed him, “Doctor. Shouting. Raise the quality of your argument, not the volume of your voice.”
“Clara, YOU saud I could shout if it was important. THIS IS IMPORTANT.” He realised he was now shouting at someone who did not deserve his ire so so softer, “Clara, radiation decays at a predictable and steady rate. Take that down,” the Doctor pointed at one of the students, “it’s as close to a universal rule as you get. A scientific fact. If something has changed... something that caused it to change.”
“And do you have a reason for that change?” Leng said. The Doctor’s passion had offended the softly spoken academic. It wasn’t the Dulcian way to get worked up.
“No I don’t,” the Doctor said, “but look around us. Lots of ways to find out.”
“See, if you do not have evidence, you cannot make a statement of science,” Leng had shifted into lecturer mode and wanted to ensure his students weren’t swayed by the unwholesomely passionate rhetoric of the Doctor. “I on the other hand have evidence. Five hundred and twenty-five years is how long it took for the radiation to fade, therefore it takes five-hundred and twenty-five years for radiation to fade.”
The Doctor’s expressive eyebrows made movements that in an obscure dialect of Delphon, the famous world where communication was via eyebrow movement, were considered to be incredibly obscene. Even Clara’s large expressive eyes spoke loudly and clearly her incredulity.
“Look at that chart, you bearded ignoramous! Explain why there’s a steady decline for hundreds of years and then WHOOSH. All gone”
Leng had to admit he could not, but he played his trump card, “can you?”
“No.” The Doctor admitted.
“So there you go. We do not know. You do not know. Let’s just accept that it happens”
“No. Let’s not. You call yourself a scientist! “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out” is LITERALLY the foundation of all science. All. Science. Everywhere.”
Further diatribes, no doubt set to be delivered in such a volume as to peel the paint off the walls and judging by the look on Clara’s face set to be a tag team match, were forever forestalled by the arrival of a ragged, exhausted and clearly terrified Cully.

11 in Ghost Light