This story came about due to two reasons - one, the fact that Donna Noble is my favorite Who companion of all time, both classic and new; and, two, my continued annoyance over the way Donna left the TARDIS in "Journey's End" (4x13). The Doctor states that a human-Time Lord hybrid isn't possible; the two species' biologies are just too different, and it will end up destroying the individual. Then what about River Song? She's Time Lord enough to regenerate, and yet not Time Lord enough for the Doctor to realize he isn't the last of his species. (In "Utopia" (3x11) the Doctor states that he would be able to telepathically feel if there was another Time Lord in existence; yet he inhabits not only the same universe but the same room and even shares a kiss with Professor Song before he realizes her Gallifreyan nature.)
So perhaps it's not a case of "it's not possible" so much as it's a case of "the Doctor doesn't see how it could be possible; therefore, it isn't."
I've also always found it interesting how the Doctor doesn't remove Donna's memories, but instead blocks them. Even though to remove them would make it impossible for her to remember them again, and therefore removing all danger of exactly what happened in "The End of Time" duo.
So I guess this is a "fix-it" fic for "Journey's End". I hope you enjoy it, and the return of the DoctorDonna.
New chapters will be uploaded on an individual basis.
"How 'bout we try the planet Felspoon? Just 'cause."
The Doctor doesn't respond. Leaning against one of the coral struts in his time ship, the Doctor stares off into nothing with a vacant expression on his face. At least, his expression would be vacant to a stranger. But she's known him too long not to see how tight he's holding his mouth, how glassy his eyes have gotten, the way his shoulders are slumped forward and the way he keeps swallowing.
Then, again, why shouldn't he be grieving? He just left the love of two of his lives on a beach of a parallel world, forever out of reach. Again. This time, with a rival for Rose Tyler's affection that can give her something the Doctor never could - his human life. No wonder the man's a wreck.
If there's one thing that the Doctor and Donna Noble agree on, it's that silence must be covered with talk. So she puts her mouth to good work and keeps talking over his pain. "What a good name, Felspoon. Apparently, it's got mountains that sway in the breeze." Flying the TARDIS is easy for her, now. She can see how the different components come together into a glorious whole. Circling around, she turns a knob and starts to set the coordinates for their next destination. "Mountains that move. Can you imagine?" Perhaps a relaxing planet is exactly what the Doctor needs right now.
Perhaps he's thinking the same thing, because he finally responds to her prattling. "And how do you know that?" he asks, voice as emotionless as his face.
"Because it's in your head," she reminds him, "and if it's in your head, it's in mine." She feels almost guilty, being so cheerful when the Doctor is so morose. But for the first time she can remember, Donna Noble is someone important. It gives a spring to her step and a lilt to her voice.
"And how does that make you feel?" is the Doctor's response. Donna looks up from the console to realize that his attention, his grief, has shifted away from Dårlig Ulv Stranden and onto her.
She's too high to let it get to her for long, though, and takes his question at face value. "Brilliant! Fantastic! Molto bene! Great big universe, packed into my brain!" She turns back to him, noting with a chill the way he's still watching her. "You know you can fix that chameleon circuit if you just tried hot-binding the fragment links and superseding the binary-"
Suddenly, she's out of breath, and the Doctor's expression has gone from one of controlled grief to one of almost alarm. She sucks in a quick breath, trying to understand what had happened. Lightning quick, even faster than a human brain ever could, her enhanced mind replays the last few seconds back, and she realizes that she had said the word 'binary', not once, but a full fourteen times.
She doesn't understand, and then she does. Her mind travels the same lines of reasoning the Doctor's already has, and realizes what's happening. And what's going to happen.
But unlike the Doctor, Donna is still human enough to find solace in pure denial. "I'm fine," she insists, turning away from the Doctor walking to the other side of the console. As if putting it between her and the Doctor can change the course of events, or even delay them. "Nah, never mind Felspoon." Her voice is just as chipper as it was a moment ago, but now there's a note of desperation to it. "You know who I'd like to meet? Charlie Chaplin. I bet he's great, Charlie Chaplin, shall we do that shall we go see Charlie Chaplin?" She's talking too fast, she knows, but she can't stop. "Shall we, Charlie Chaplin?" She picks up the phone on the TARDIS console, and pretends to talk into it. "Charlie Chester, Charlie Brown, no, he's fiction, friction, fiction fickston nickston rickston brickston-"
She's run out of air, again, but this time there's no confusion. Only a cold understanding of what's going on, and what it means. Her gasp for breath this time has almost a hint of a sob to it.
Suddenly, the Doctor is there, watching her mind falling apart. "Do you know what's happening?" His voice is still almost expressionless, and she suddenly realizes what it is - it's not unfeeling, it's numb. And that scares her more than anything. She's seen this man so furious he's literally shaking. She's seen him bouncing off the walls in a manic glee at his own cleverness. She's seen him fight, and win, so many times; but he's never done it numb. Numb isn't a prelude to fight. Numb is defeat.
She finally answers his question with a voice just as numb, just as defeated, as his own. "Yeah." It's almost a whisper.
"There's never been a Human/Time Lord metacrisis before now," is his statement, "and you know why."
Donna hesitates before naming her own death sentence. "Because there can't be." She looks back down at the console, this humming machine that used to be so alien and strange that's now comfortable and familiar. She won't look him in the face as she makes her next request. Her final request. "I want to stay." It's not fair of her, perhaps, asking him to deal with the grief of her final moments, of being there while her mind finally burns out, but she doesn't care. Not enough that she won't fight for this, to die with dignity here in the TARDIS.
But the Doctor is having none of it. He leans over the console beside her, a pose of intimate familiarity, as he delivers what she believes will be his refusal. "Look at me." But she doesn't comply; a childish part of her believes that if she doesn't look at him, he can't refuse her. "Donna, look at me!"
It's the pain in his voice that finally gets to her. She looks up to see him fighting tears, and the sight threatens to break her own composure. "I was going to be with you. Forever."
"I know," is the Doctor's only reply.
"Rest of my life. Traveling. In the TARDIS. The DoctorDonna." The last is almost bit out, and she realizes that she's crying, has been crying for awhile.
He doesn't reply. Doesn't jump in to refuse her request. Doesn't even try to comfort her. Just stands there and watches her with a look of restrained grief. And just a hint of ... hope?
She thinks hard, again traveling the same lines of reasoning that the Doctor will have already thought of, and realizes that there's a way for her to live.
A way that the Doctor, in his own selfish way, will prefer.
And she realizes that he will probably already have decided that this was best. And will be ready to see it through, no matter what.
"Oh," she gasps, backing away from him. "Oh, I ca- I can't go back." She shakes her head almost violently, still backing up, but all he has to do with those long legs of his is take one step forward and his hands on her shoulders stops her. "Don't make me go back." She's sobbing now. He just stands there, holding her still, listening to her cries, and she realizes that he's going to do this whether she wants him to or not. "Doctor. Please." Her voice has an almost frantic tone to it now. "Please, don't make me go back!"
"Donna," he replies, and for one moment she thinks that maybe he's heard her. That he realizes that she'd literally rather die than return to the miserable life of self-doubt and worthlessness that she led before him. But then he takes a breath and continues. "Oh, Donna Noble, I am so sorry." She shakes her head, no, but he ignores her. "But we had the best of times." He tries to reassure her with a smile, but he's holding back his own sobs and it comes out as a grimace of pain.
She looks at him, standing there, holding her back, and feels a horror almost mixed with fear. Here is the man the Daleks and the Cybermen and so many other races throughout the galaxies fear. Here is the Oncoming Storm. His greatest weapon isn't his fury, or his cleverness.
It's his kindness.
"Goodbye." It's almost a whisper, almost a prayer, as he places those clever fingers of his on her temples.
"No, no, no please." It's almost a plea, now, almost begging. "Please, no. No!" She can feel it, now, him in her head. She feels him ripping through her barriers and entering her most prized possession. And she feels them slipping away. "NO!" But it's done, and all she has to cling to is a feeling of horrible grief and unimaginable betrayal without context as the darkness washes over her.
She was his best friend. She had saved him from himself so many times. At the end, he had done what he could to return the favor.
That's what he kept reminding himself. Sitting in the Mott and Noble family's living room, watching a version of Donna so much younger emotionally than the one he was used to, he kept his composure by reminding himself that he had saved his best friend from her own mind.
Standing in the kitchen, listening to her call "Dumbo" some other friend over the phone, desperately wanting some sort of acknowledgement from her before he left but receiving only an offhanded "yeah, see 'ya," he reminded himself that she wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for his actions.
Looking into Wilfred's eyes, seeing the grief there but also the gratitude, listening to the old soldier's promise to remember him for Donna's sake, he decided that he had done the right thing.
She was Donna Noble; she'd find her way back to herself. At least he had given her the chance to do so.
Perhaps it was a little bit of selfishness, however, that guided his actions. Now he could go out and journey amongst the stars knowing that she was safe and alive and (hopefully) happy. Now he wouldn't have yet another death on his conscious. But that comfort was only secondary, he assured himself, a happy byproduct of doing what was right for her.
Perhaps it was also selfishness that made him only block the deadly memories instead of removing them entirely. Perhaps it was selfishness, or perhaps it was a bit of foresight. Perhaps the old Time Lord had finally picked up a hint of clairvoyance from his time ship.
Whatever it was that stayed his hand, it would prove to be a wise move in the years to come.