"But he's not you."
"He needs you. That's very me."
I grew out of the Doctor's severed hand. I was born in the midst of battle, just the way the Doctor regenerated.
I am not the Doctor.
I'm a clone. A living photocopy. I'm not even a Time Lord, I'm human. Not that there's anything wrong with being human. I love humans. They're all so brilliantly stupid, and stupidly brilliant.
But I can remember inter-dimensional battles, wars waged across time. I remember feeling the turn of the Earth, falling through space, clinging to the skin of this tiny, little world at the edge of the universe.
But I am not him.
Even Rose knows that. She calls me Ten-two. Everyone does. It makes sense. I'm the copy of the tenth regeneration of the Doctor.
I don't have any problems with it. I just wish that Rose loved me, for me. Not her memories of the man she used to know.