The road less travelled...

Title: A Time of Endings 8/9
Author: katherine_b
Rating: PG
Summary: The End of Time with Donna in it. Wait, she already was. So why am I bothering to do this one?
A/N: This reworking may make it impossible for you to rewatch the actual episode. Just sayin'.

Part VIII

The impossible has happened.

Her voice is just as he remembers it too.

So much seems impossible at this moment. He could never have believed that Gallifrey would return, that the Time Lock would be opened, that the nightmares would be released as he knows they have been, because he can feel them gathering their energies again for a fresh onslaught.

But more than that, greater and more impossible than everything else, he had never let himself imagine he would see her again.

The gun is heavy in his hand, and he becomes aware that it is still pointing at Rassilon.

He remembers the time he had a gun in his hand on Messaline, pointing it at General Cobb. He didn’t pull the trigger then, but he had been aware that the safety was off.

He knows the truth though.

He had stopped at that moment not because he knew he should, but because he knew it wouldn’t have made any difference.

I have never been ashamed of you.

The thought drifts almost idly into his mind, and at that moment, he notices the tear that is slowly slipping down his mother’s cheek.

I have to do it. His voice is a plea for understanding, for her not to think the worst of him as he commits this terrible act that will condemn him forever.

No.

The negation is instant and firm despite the softness of her mental voice.

And, for the first time, it forces him to consider.

There is no escape from this moment, this hell into which the Time Lords and Gallifrey must be returned.

These events from years ago threaten to destroy this future. And the present. And the past.

The words of the Ood recur to him and he knows that, to save everything that was and is and will be, Gallifrey has to be sent back, and with it, the Time Lords, and the Doctor himself.

But if he is dragged into the Time Lock, he will forever be haunted by his actions at this moment. The grief he suffered at his loss when the Time Lock was put in place before will be nothing to what he must suffer if someone dies at his hand and he has to live with that knowledge for the rest of time, unable to escape it.

How? he begs desperately.

Her eyes suddenly move, dragged away from his face with obvious effort, glancing behind him and then back, from him to – the Master?

No.

Understanding fills him, understanding and such glorious relief and joy that he almost wants to acknowledge it aloud.

Instead, he turns again, gun held high, his finger certain on the trigger.

The Master’s delight and victory fades, and tears glisten in his brown eyes.

Tears of disbelief and fear.

Tears that hark back to childhood and innocence, before the constant drumming drove him to insanity, before the Time Lords used him as a pawn, before his desire for power and greatness was twisted and manipulated to enable to return of Gallifrey and Rassilon.

And the Doctor speaks only five words.

“Get out of the way.”

Understanding dawns, and the Master glances back ever so slightly, before a smile crosses his face and he dives away, out of the path of the bullet that had come so close to being intended for him.

The machine holding that last link of Gallifrey, the white point star that, like the sound of drums, had been sent back in time to escape the Time Lock and journeyed through space to bring all of this together, explodes in a ball of fire.

The Doctor can feel a relentless pull as the world around them begins to be dragged back. He turns to the Lord President, glory and triumph filling him.

“The link is broken!” he announces. “Back into the Time War, Rassilon! Back into Hell!”

“You die with me, Doctor!” comes the furious, bitter reply, and the Doctor can see that Rassilon is readying the Resurrection Gauntlet.

“I know,” he says calmly, because at least now his existence in the Time Lock, which has seemed inevitable almost since the beginning, won’t be tainted by the stain of death caused by his hand.

His eyes linger not on the Lord President – he prefers not to see the instance of his own death – but on the woman beside Rassilon. There is a last look in her eyes of love and pride and happiness that makes his hearts sing before she once more covers her face with her hands, as if unable to bear the sight of him being dragged to his doom, and he loses sight of her for the last time.

And then a voice, speaking almost calmly from behind him, causes him to turn.

“Get out of the way.”

He looks sharply over his shoulder, all thought of death and eternity gone in an instant, to find the Master gathering the power in his hands, as he did in the wasteland. And as the Doctor’s eyes widen and he all but falls back, he manages to catch a final glimpse in the other man’s eyes of the friendship that was so strong, it would allow one to sacrifice himself for the other.

The Doctor throws himself clear of the bolt of power that the Master shoots from his hands, and which strikes Rassilon in the chest so that the deadly energy building up in the gauntlet vanishes at once.

“You did this to me!” the Master roars as he gives of himself to destroy the threat that Rassilon represents to them both. “All of my life!” he goes on as he fires a second blast. “You made me! One!” another surge of power, “Two!” and the Doctor can both see and feel his life-force being drained as the group is dragged away, back into the Time Lock. “Three! Four!”

And then, in a final explosion of white light, the world around him goes dark.

It is the mind-silence that is the greatest shock. It takes him a moment to recover from the sudden absence, as it had done when the Time Lock was first put into place.

And then he has the luxury of time to realize where he is.

He opens his eyes to find himself staring up at the shattered glass dome high above him. He gasps reflexively for breath, reaching out for something to hold on to, feeling the stabbing pains in his chest as he does so.

That, more than anything else, proves to him that one final, impossible thing exists.

“I’m alive,” he chokes out as he struggles onto his side and gazes down the room at the Immortality Gate.

He rolls onto his front, staring down at the white, cold marble floor beneath him, sliding his hands across the surface and feeling as the tiny pieces of shattered glass cling to his skin.

“I’m still alive,” he says aloud, scarcely daring to believe the words, even when he hears them echo in his own ears.

He lets himself sob in sheer, blissful, unbelievable relief as his thoughts move beyond himself and outward.

He can feel that the Earth is once more alone in space, that the Time Lords are gone and the danger is past.

And he can let himself mourn again, in time, for what has been lost with them.

It takes a moment – longer than it should have – for the knocking sound to penetrate his consciousness.

For the understanding of what those four soft, reluctant taps actually mean to sink in.

For devastation and betrayal and anger and hatred and bitterness to swamp him.

For him to sink back onto the floor and stare blindly in front of him, not daring to turn his eyes to the man who spells his doom.

Not until he knows he must.

Wilfred is standing inside that small space, so small and normal and insignificant as he gives a little wave that it seems absolutely impossible.

But there he is.

“They gone then?” he asks almost carelessly. “Yeah, good-o. If you could, er, let me out.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor agrees.

Of course. What else? Sounds so simple. And yet…

“I mean,” the Doctor can hear the concern in Wilf’s voice, “this thing seems to be making a bit of a noise.”

“The Master,” he begins hesitantly as he gets to his feet, reluctant to use that name when it’s not the title that should belong to a man who has just made such a massive sacrifice, “left the nuclear bolt running,” he finishes the explanation almost lamely. “It’s gone into overload.”

“And that’s bad, is it?” he asks with such ridiculous naïveté that, in any situation, the Doctor would have had to laugh.

“No,” he replies readily enough, because it isn’t bad.

Not for Wilfred Mott anyway.

“’Cause all the excess radiation gets vented inside there.” He nods at the empty glass box, able to picture himself inside there so clearly that he can already feel the pain he will have to suffer. “Vinvocci glass contains it. All 500,000 rads about to flood that thing.”

“Oh.” Wilf’s reply suggests a comprehensive failure to understand. “Well, you’d better let me out then.”

“Except it’s gone critical.”

He turns away, not wanting to see the devastation that he knows has just appeared on Wilf’s face.

“Touch one control and its floods,” he continues, reaching into his pocket for his trusty sonic screwdriver. He wonders whether his next incarnation will find it as essential as he’s done. “Even this would set it off,” he has to admit, putting it away again after a final, fond look.

“I’m sorry.”

I know.

He feels his lips shape the words, but no sound comes out. Instead, the Doctor feels a sudden rush of anger as Wilf continues to speak.

“Look, just leave me.”

The ridiculous simplicity of that suggestion makes him smile, although it’s bitter and full of anger.

“Okay, right then, I will,” he snaps back, feeling as helpless tears flood his eyes, hating this situation so much, railing against fate as he paces the room, and yet knowing that nothing will change. “'Cause you had to go in there, didn't you?” he demands. “You had to go and get stuck, oh yes!”

He turns to stare at the man again. “'Cause that's who you are, Wilfred,” he says bitterly as his voice breaks. “You were always this. Waiting for me, all this time.”

“No, really, just leave me.”

He doesn’t seem to understand that all of this talking, putting off the last moments, only makes it worse.

“I'm an old man, Doctor. I've had my time.”

“Well, exactly, look at you,” he snaps back, finally turning his gaze back on the man whose life he will save at the expense of his own, feeling fury rise again the absolute normality of this pathetic, simple human being. “Not remotely important! But me? I could do so much more!”

He glares at the ceiling, feeling almost as if he’s railing at these Gods human beings love and believe in, as if somehow that will save him.

And yet he knows there is no way to change this.

And that’s what hurts most.

“So much more!” he insists, pounding his fists on his chest, scarcely noticing the increased pain this causes to his broken ribs. “But this is what I get!”

He leans over a nearby desk, thinking back to the other deaths, the other times he’s been in this situation, and the number of occasions when he has given up lives for a single human being

He almost wonders at himself, that he could have expected to go in such a grand and majestic manner, fighting an enemy like the Master.

It should always have been obvious that his death would be so insignificant.

“My reward,” he gets out at last. “But it’s not fair!” he explodes for a final time, shoving at a pile of papers that happen to be sitting within arm’s reach, getting out the last of his anger, before he slowly turns back towards the two glass boxes to do what he must.

“No, it’s not.”

The voice is soft, female and hauntingly familiar.

Agonisingly familiar.

Devastatingly familiar.

The Doctor freezes, his back to the door where he knows she’s standing, staring at the shattered glass on the floor in front of him, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

Somehow, in the very depths of the most hidden part of his mind, where he suppresses his deepest desires and nightmares, he had always known that there was still one impossible thing that had yet to happen. He had tried to make a guess at what it might be as the moments flashed by - whether it was the Master saving his life, or the return of Gallifrey, or the chance to see his mother one final time.

He had never allowed himself to imagine that it might be this.

Nor that he could greet this moment with anything other than pure joy.

He would never have believed that he would feel this way at the sound of Donna Noble's voice.

[Timestamp scene]

"Don't. You. Dare."

The words come from between gritted teeth and he feels fury fill him, understanding what’s coming the next instant as he curses the meta-crisis all over again.

“Stop me.”

Her voice is light, almost careless, and then he feels the slam of energy into his back that throws him across the room towards the Immortality Gate.

“Sweetheart, don’t!” Wilf cries, but his protest goes all but unnoticed by the other occupants of the room.

“No.” The Doctor, sliding across the floor on his back, scrabbles for a hold amid the bits of glass, which skitter away as if scared of his touch. “No!”

His foot accidentally kicks the gun, which flies across the room, through the Gate and disappears into the shadows, out of reach.

Not that he could ever imagine pointing it at Donna, even in a moment like this.

Fighting for breath, his various aches and pains exacerbated by the shock of hitting the marble floor again, the Doctor uses a desk for support as he manages to stagger to his feet. He slumps back against one of the columns and turns to find Donna already in front of the vacant booth, reaching for the handle.

“Donna, don’t!” he growls. “I – I gave you that power!”

He struggles to get the words out, trying to be threatening, to stop her. He pushes himself away from the column and manages several paces in her direction before she looks around. Stopping short, as if they are playing a macabre game of ‘Statues,’ he tries for his best ‘Oncoming Storm’ glare.

“I can take it away again!” he warns, although the words sound strangely empty.

Her expression is mocking as she takes a step towards him. Behind her, the Doctor can see Wilf staring at them, disbelief on his face as he clearly tries to work out what’s going on. But the Doctor has no energy or time to spare on explanations as he desperately tries to think of a way out of this situation. Donna, however, doesn’t give him a chance.

“Then come and stop me,” she taunts him, smirking a little.

She pulls back the sleeves of her teal cardigan, for all the world as if she’s about to do some cooking or the washing up. However he can see the look of determination on her face, reminiscent of the time she helped him destroy the Pyroviles, and, unnerved, he actually takes a step back.

“Donna…” he’s beginning reluctantly, when she suddenly directs her hands at him, much as the Master had done. However the beams of energy that blast from her palms are golden, like that caused by regeneration, rather than white.

The Doctor feels himself pushed back against the pillar he was using as support a moment earlier, his arms trapped at his sides, unable to move. As he looks down at the glowing gold ropes of regenerative energy that encase his body, he can’t help thinking that this feels rather like when he was strapped into the chair. However he knows that, unlike the multiple Masters, who didn't care if they caused him pain, Donna has used what control she has of this terrifying new skill to ensure that it was relatively gentle.

“Donna, what have you done?” Wilf exclaims in obvious horror.

The woman glances at him out of the corner of her eye. “I had to stop him, Gramps.”

“I never thought,” the Doctor gasps, struggling to free himself, even as she pulls open the door, “that you’d betray me like this, Donna Noble!”

Donna stops, turning back to face him, jamming her foot in the door so that it can’t close. Her expression is somewhere between hurt and a sense of supreme satisfaction.

“Betrayal?!” she exclaims in offended tones. “That’s a terrible thing to call it, Doctor!”

“Really?” he grunts as he fights to move even a finger. “What would you say it is then?”

“Amusing,” she says with a grin and an attempt at a casual tone in her voice. “Really, do you have any idea how ridiculous you look right now? If the Master was still here, he’d be having a field day! Probably hysterics, too. It makes all his leather hoopla look ridiculous. Or,” she adds thoughtfully, as she licks the tip of her index finger and slides it slowly down the handle of the door, a teasing, suggestive smile on her face, “just kinky.”

“What do you think you’re doing?!” he demands desperately, seeing the painfully false attempt at humour fade as she turns fully to face him.

“Point one,” she says, counting them off on her fingers, leaning against the glass booth as if they casually as if they were having this conversation in the console room of the TARDIS rather than just outside a box that will soon be flooded with deadly radiation, “I’m not betraying you, Doctor. I’m saving you. And while I’m thinking about it,” she adds knowingly, “this is a better rescue than being dragged down a flight of stairs while strapped to a table, isn’t it?”

“How d’you know about that?” Wilf demands. “You weren’t there!”

Donna glances at him, tapping her forehead, a faint smirk on her features. “After-effect of the meta-crisis, Gramps. This close, I know what he’s thinking and feeling. And even he has to admit that I’m nicer than the Master!”

Actually, he does have to admit it, but he’s not about to say it out loud.

“So you’re,” Wilf points at the Doctor, “like ‘im?”

“Oh, yes!” Donna manages a grin, although the Doctor is certain he can glimpse fear and misery in her eyes. However her voice betrays none of this. “Part Time Lord. Only better! Brilliant! He even admitted it! Well, the other version of him did.” She turns back to the Doctor, a look of satisfaction on her face. “Human being with a Time Lord brain. Wasn’t that what you called me? The DoctorDonna, just like the Ood said.”

“But what are the Ood?” Wilf wails.

The Doctor, however, has neither the time nor the patience to explain more than he already has. He glares at his former companion. “Will you stop using my words and my tone of voice and get away from that door?!”

When she makes no move to so do, he fights even more strongly against the bands of energy holding him to the pillar, but to no avail.

“Point two,” Donna continues, tapping her middle finger, sarcasm lacing her tones, “if, as you so brilliantly suggested, I move away from this door, closing it will send the radiation flooding into the left-hand chamber and Gramps will be killed. And if you think I’m about to let that happen, Time Boy, then you’ve got another think coming, let me tell you!”

He stops struggling long enough to admit that point to himself. If he couldn’t let Wilf die, then Donna certainly won’t be able to!

“Point three,” she taps the finger on which she is wearing her engagement ring. However his eyes widen when he realises that it’s a plain gold band. A very familiar one. He can’t help suspecting it’s the biodamper that he gave her so very long ago.

“Are you listening to me, Doctor?” she demands dangerously, and his eyes fly up to her face, the half-formed thought gone in an instant.

“Point three,” he chokes out between clenched teeth, no longer struggling because he knows there’s no way he can escape while she’s standing there, watching him. He’s positive she would be less gentle if he did somehow manage to get away from the energy ties binding him.

“Point three,” she agrees, and there’s a deceptive lightness to her voice again, although he can also hear pain there, as she turns back towards the small glass booth, “and yes,” she adds, glancing back at him over her shoulder, meaning that he can glimpse the sudden tears in her eyes, “I am about to swear, and I don’t want to hear you telling me off, thanks – there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it!”

“No!” Wilf’s voice is a cry of despair. “No, Donna, please! Please don’t! No! Don’t! Please!”

She smiles sadly as she steps over the threshold. “Love you, Gramps.”

“No!”

The scream comes from both Wilf and the Doctor as Donna lets the door close. As soon as the glass swings back into position, her eyes locked with Wilf’s, she reaches down and presses the yellow button.

The pressure holding the Doctor back releases at the same instant as the light inside the booth turns red, and he staggers away from the pillar just as the deadly radiation floods the tiny space.

Wilf hauls open the door of his half of the glass box and throws himself out into the room before turning back to the booth where Donna is secured. His fists slam on the glass and he pulls wildly on the handle, but, as the Doctor crosses the room to pull him away, he knows that nothing can change what is happening on the other side of that door. Vinvocci glass is too strong even for the sonic screwdriver to shatter it, let alone for someone of Wilf’s strength to overcome it, but, even if he could manage that, to open that door would mean the deaths of all three of them.

Donna groans in agony, her eyes shut and teeth clenched against the pain of the waves of radiation he can see bearing down on her. The Doctor sees her reaching for a hold on the glass on either side of her, her fingers leaving faint trails down the walls as she falls to her knees, gasping desperately for air.

There’s an echo of her pain in the back of his mind, although he’s not sure if he’s actually feeling what she is experiencing, or if it’s just because he’s suffered through something similar on Metebellis III when he regenerated from his third into his fourth self.

Wilf is still pounding fruitlessly on the glass door, screaming his granddaughter’s name at the fullest pitch of his lungs. Donna is sitting on her haunches, her head in her hands, convulsions shaking her body every time she tries to breathe. When she fails to respond, Wilf drops to his knees, trying to get closer to her, and the Doctor kneels beside him, placing a hand flat on the glass, and closes his eyes, trying to find a way to connect to Donna. He can sense her weakening as she sinks to the floor, feeling as the echo of her energy begins to drain away.

Suddenly Wilf turns on the Doctor, beating his fists against the Time Lord’s chest as tears stream down his face, grabbing fistfuls of the Doctor’s lapels as he looks back at Donna, who is now lying motionless on the floor of the box as the radiation pours over her, her arms curled over her head in a futile attempt at self-preservation.

“Get her out! Save her! For God’s sake, Doctor, it’s killing her!”

“I can’t,” he admits helplessly, unable to tear his eyes away from the woman’s still form, his voice soft with unshed tears. “I wish I could, believe me. I’d do anything to save her at this moment. But… I can’t.”

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