A/N: GAH. I have a huge post-Doomsday story that's almost finished, and I can't wait to post the first chapter—and then this idea wormed its way into my head.

At this rate, the first two Doctor Who stories I dreamed up will be the last ones I finish.

Written in second person, for no specific reason. I guess the muse thought it would sound angstier that way.

Not betaed in any way, so all mistakes are mine.

Feedback: Gets read over and over…no, really, you have no idea. Reviews are LOVE. Please review!

You needed Rose, in your previous incarnation. Needed her to drown out the screams, to fill the vast emptiness of millions of voices gone silent. You clung to her like a child, and hated yourself for it. No Time Lord should rely on a human girl, practically still a child. Not when she could be gone in an instant, leaving you more devastated than before. It was a dangerous game, and yet you still played it, selfishselfishselfish, willing to let the world burn because you could lose her. And yet, you rationalize, you really and truly needed someone after the war. Rose's hand just happened to be the first one you grabbed. It could have just as easily been someone else. Doesn't make you feel any less dependant, though. Need is the worst emotion of the stupid lot.

Now, new new Doctor, all manic energy and grins and prattle, the pain isn't as fresh. The screams aren't as loud; you've gotten used to the silence. You've moved on, like you always do. You don't need Rose, not anymore. You could drop her off back at the estate any time.

But you won't.

You don't need her anymore, but she's not going anywhere.

Because now you just want her here.

And you're beginning to think that want is worse than need.