Title: “Journey’s End,” Take Two, Part 2 of 2: Atonement.
Author: Yours truly, at box_in_the_box.
Beta-Reader: persiflage_1.
Rating: PG. No sex, no violence, not even any swearing, but plenty of angst.
Characters: Where do I start? Tenth Doctor, Donna Noble, Martha Jones, Rose Tyler, Jackie Tyler, Mickey Smith, Sarah Jane Smith, Luke Smith, Maria Jackson, Alan Jackson, Clyde Langer, Jack Harkness, Ianto Jones, Gwen Cooper, [spoiler hero] and [spoiler villain].
Spoilers: Did you not see the title? All of NuWho, through Season 4, Episode 13, “Journey’s End.”
Summary: He might deserve to die, but the Doctor still saves him. She deserves to be saved, but the Doctor might still lose her …
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PREVIOUSLY, ON DOCTOR WHO …

AND NOW, THE CONCLUSION …
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“YES! DO IT, DOCTOR!” Davros ordered, pumping his fist in the air victoriously. “SAVE her life, by KILLING the person she’s become! END her existence, even as you fight your own friends to PRESERVE mine!”

The Doctor blinked. “Wait,” he breathed, his mind suddenly racing, “wait a minute … that’s it. That’s IT! Ah, THAT’S IT!”

“WHAT, Doctor?” Martha Jones needed to know. “TELL us! What do we DO?”

The Doctor tilted his head down to lock eyes with Donna Noble, whose slack-jawed expression of dawning realization reflected his own, as she struggled to put into words what they were both thinking. “If you can … draw it out …”

The Doctor withdrew his Sonic Screwdriver with the whip-snap reflexes of a gunslinger. “And convert it …”

The two raised their heads toward the Doctor’s double, whose slowly spreading giddy grin mirrored theirs. “And channel it …” he then regarded Davros with a sneer of savage anticipation.

“What are you babbling about –” Davros scoffed dismissively, before he caught on as well. “No,” he shook his head. “No, no, NO! You will NOT –”

“Ah, BRILLIANT!” the Doctor, his double and Donna chorused in jubilant unison.

“What … do we, like, have a plan now, yeah?” Rose Tyler hoped desperately.

“Hold her steady,” the Doctor instructed, guiding Martha’s arms under Donna’s armpits to support her weight, and placing Rose’s hands on either side of Donna’s head. “Jack, I’ll need you to do the same with Davros in about five seconds.”

“LOWER THE FORCEFIELD!” the Doctor’s double ordered Ianto Jones.

“You’re sure?” Ianto checked, even as he moved to the controls.

“DO IT!” Jack Harkness confirmed, sprinting into position behind Davros, to take hold of the back of his mobile life-support chair. “Gwen, I’m gonna need cover -”

“On it,” Gwen Cooper grabbed and loaded the nearest high-powered alien assault rifle. “Do you know what they’re on about?” she jerked her head in the direction of the Doctor, his double and Donna, even as she raised the rifle to her shoulder.

“Not a clue!” Jack chuckled, gritting his teeth as he wrestled to maintain his grip on Davros’ chair. “He certainly doesn’t seem to care for the idea, though,” he nodded at Davros himself, “so that’s all I need to know.”

“UNHAND ME, YOU ABOMINATION!” Davros screeched, as he fought to wrest himself free.

“You ready?” the Doctor called to his double, who now stood facing Davros’ front left side, while Gwen trained her weapon on Davros from his front right side.

“You just do your part, spaceman, and I’ll do mine,” the Doctor’s double snarled out Donna’s nickname for him, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Are you ready?” the Doctor repeated, this time to Donna, pressing his left hand to her forehead. “Even if this works, it’s really gonna hurt –”

“You talk too bloody much,” Donna snorted, even as tears trickled down her cheeks. “Even now that I’ve got your Time Lord mind, I can still see that. Just get on with it.”

The Doctor’s face broke into a watery smile in spite of himself, and he inhaled deeply, then shoved hard against Donna’s forehead. Her head snapped back, her chest thrust up as her back arched, her limbs flung themselves outward, and her entire body was suddenly suffused with a familiar, but no less frightening, near-blinding light. He groaned with effort as he appeared to force the glow to flow out of her and into him, moving like a swarm of fireflies, from his hand on her head, up his arm, across his chest, down his other arm … and into the Sonic Screwdriver.

The Sonic Screwdriver in the Doctor’s right hand shot out a stream of energy, directly into Davros’ chest. Davros howled in agony as the energy enveloped him, and as soon as the stream from the Sonic Screwdriver had exhausted itself, the Doctor’s double rushed in on Davros’ left side – the side opposite his one remaining hand, where he was weakest to defend himself – and practically flung Jack to the floor, as he pulled him off Davros.

“I’VE GOT IT NOW, JACK!” the Doctor’s double left no room for debate, scowling as his hands danced across the life-support controls of Davros’ chair, racing to make the necessary adjustments in time. “GO TO THEM!”

Jack didn’t need to be told twice. He leaped, then skidded in on his knees, to join the other companions, who were knelt and huddled around Donna’s lifelessly limp form. Rose and Martha rocked back and forth in each other’s arms, cradling one another for comfort. Sarah Jane Smith and Alan Jackson each hugged their respective children with one arm, while clutching Clyde Langer no less protectively, with their free arms between them. Sarah Jane’s face was frozen into a mask, but Jackie Tyler bawled openly into Mickey Smith’s chest, as he wrapped his arms around her and stroked the back of her head.

“Come on, please,” the Doctor whispered, cupping Donna’s face in his palms, his tears spilling onto her far too peaceful face. “Please … don’t do this, not now … you can’t … I saved you …” he choked out, his lower lip quivering, before his face darkened with anger.

“You … QUITTER!!!” he accused her. “YOU NEVER SHUT UP ONCE IN YOUR LIFE, NOT EVER, AND NOW, YOU’RE LETTING ME HAVE THE FINAL WORD?!?!?! IF YOU DO THIS TO ME, I WILL TELL EVERYONE, IN THIS AND EVERY OTHER UNIVERSE, THAT DONNA NOBLE IS ALL BARK AND NO BITE, AND THAT THEY CAN SAY WHATEVER THEY WANT TO HER, AND SHE WILL NEVER TALK BACK TO THEM!!!”

Donna’s body jerked as she gasped awake. “If you do that,” she promised the Doctor, in between hungry gulps of air, “I swear, I will box your ears in, from here to the Medusa Cascade.”

She was greeted with what sounded like more laughter, crying and cheering than she’d ever heard at once in her life. And yet, that didn’t take her aback nearly as much as when she found herself swept up into an embrace straight out of one of her favorite trashy romance novels, and sharing one of the most passionate, heartfelt kisses of her life.

With the Doctor.

“Oi,” Donna swallowed, her voice much softer than usual, once he’d finally broken off their kiss, so that she could catch her breath. “What happened to ‘just mates,’ then?” she attempted to affect a stern air, even as the corners of her mouth couldn’t help curling into a smile.

“You’ve always meant more than that to me,” the Doctor confessed tenderly to Donna, then addressed the rest of his companions. “All of you have. And your lives are too short, and too precious, for me to leave that unsaid, or unexpressed, any longer.” And before they knew what was happening, he’d quickly planted a series of equally deep, loving kisses on the mouths of each of his companions – Martha, Rose, Sarah Jane, even Jack – leaving them all completely gobsmacked.

“So, um … show of hands,” Jack beamed, even as his verbal stumbling betrayed how stunned even he was at the Doctor’s displays of affection. “Who’s been kissed twice by a Time Lord now?” He thrust his own hand proudly into the air. “My first lip-lock with the Doc was back on Satellite 5.”

Rose tentatively lifted her hand. “I’m not sure it counts as twice, though,” she qualified, before elaborating, “I mean, the first time, he only did it to absorb these, like … time vortex energies I’d got, from the heart of the TARDIS, to stop the power from … burning me from the inside out.”

“There seems to be a bit of that going ‘round,” Martha smirked, raising her own hand. “And my first snog with him was just a ‘genetic transfer’ to fool the Judoon, so if mine counts, then yours does, too.”

“Oh, all right,” Donna waved her hand in admission. “Detox shock for cyanide poisoning,” she summarized, and then, when met with bemused stares from her fellow companions, rolled her eyes and added, “We were solving a murder mystery. With Agatha Christie. Oh, and a giant alien wasp,” as if that explained everything.

“Right, that makes it much clearer,” Martha winked, receiving a gentle elbow from Donna in return for her teasing.

“Sarah Jane?” Jack noticed both of her hands clasped in her lap.

Sarah Jane ducked her head sheepishly. “Actually, this was my first Time Lord kiss,” she blushed.

“Well … I’m only an ordinary human, but here’s hoping this is still good enough.” Alan took a leap of faith, then leaned in to kiss Sarah Jane. It was such a simple gesture, but between his divorce from Chrissie and the accusations of Davros, he was laying his heart bare before Sarah Jane, just by working up the nerve to go through with it. He loved her, and even if it killed him, he needed to know, once and for all, if she could ever love him back.

And then, he felt her arms slide around his waist and back, and her lips return his kiss, even rivaling his own in their boldness, and as he heard her moan softly into his own mouth, he felt nothing so much as achingly pure gratitude.

“Go DAD!” Maria Jackson giggled approvingly.

“Ew,” Clyde wrinkled his nose in feigned disgust. “Old people kissing …”

“Does this mean we’re brother and sister now?” Luke Smith inquired worriedly of Maria, afraid that their recent after-school activities made them guilty of retroactive incest.

“That’s not quite how it works, Luke,” Sarah Jane stroked Luke’s head soothingly, as she and Alan finally relinquished their mutual possession of each other’s lips. She then pursed those lips peevishly at the Doctor. “After all these years, are you still going to force me to act as your expository prompt?” she sighed in exasperation, before launching into an exaggerated impression of her roughly 30-years-younger self. “But how did you do it, Doctor?” she adopted a cheeky mock-ingénue tone.

“Oi!” Donna objected. “It wasn’t just him, was it?” She glared at the Doctor’s arched eyebrows. “Well, I might not have your supposedly brilliant Time Lord mind rattling ‘round in my own head any longer, but I’m still clever enough to understand how we did it, aren’t I?”

“Oh, Donna Noble,” the Doctor gushed, “you were always clever, Time Lord or not.”

“Oh, like I needed you to tell me that,” Donna sassed back, even as she secretly basked in his adoration, before she continued. “So, anyway … spaceman here drew his high-and-mighty Time Lord mind out of mine, without mucking about with my memories, thank you very much –”

“And,” the Doctor couldn’t resist jumping in, “I used the Sonic Screwdriver to convert those regeneration energies, from mental to physical ones –”

“Which he then channeled into Davros,” the Doctor’s double completed the thought, attracting everyone else’s attention, at the same time that he completed his adjustments of Davros’ life-support systems. “Speaking of which … OI, SPACEMAN! FIREWORKS SHOW IN FIVE SECONDS!”

“Oh, you’ll all want to see this,” the Doctor enthused, clearly impressed with himself.

“But … no, wait,” Sarah Jane grabbed the Doctor’s arm, her alarm mounting as she grasped the implications of what he, his double and Donna had all just done. “You … you pumped physical regeneration energies … into DAVROS?!”

“Yep,” the Doctor agreed, popping the “P” like a mischievous school-lad.

Her eyes went wide with sick horror. “DAVROS IS REGENERATING?!?!?!” she nearly shrieked.

He flashed one of those wide, wild, mad, manic grins that had so often both thrilled and terrified her when she was younger. “OH YES!”

The regeneration energies that had been swirling around Davros exploded into an even brighter shower of sparkling light, shooting up in a near-solid column from the top of his chair’s control panel. All his prosthetic parts were burned away by the golden glow … the robotic right hand, the luminous blue artificial eye at the center of his forehead, and the silvery headpiece that connected his mind to the life-support systems of his chair, all disintegrated by the near-blinding plume of energies, which regenerated the limbs and other anatomy that had been lost or else rendered non-functional so long ago. Dark, deep-set eyes opened in once-empty sockets, a palm, a thumb and four fingers extended from the stump of his right wrist, and more … leathery, wrinkled skin softened and tightened, strong muscles and supple flesh regrew over exposed ribs and rejuvenating organs, dead nerves reactivated, and lost hair even sprouted back onto his head and body.

The front of Davros’ life-support chair slid open in segments, spilling its occupant onto the floor, as the regeneration energies subsided. Davros, curled into a fetal position, grunted with effort, as he struggled to prop himself up, first on his rippling arms, then on his knees, as he lifted himself onto his haunches, to stare open-mouthed at his large hands, before patting down his broad chest and feeling his angular facial features. He balled his fists, his knuckles cracking audibly, and then rose, slowly but surely, on his powerfully built legs, to stand.

To stand at his new, full height.

His new, full height of well above six and a half feet.

Donna’s jaw dropped. “Remind me why we thought this was a good idea, again?”

Davros’ head whipped around, on his thick neck, to face his audience, and he bared his glistening white teeth like a predatory animal, a low growl growing in the back of his throat. His swift, heavy footfalls resounded like thunderclaps in the Hub, as he ran toward his prey, his face twisted with fury. “DOOOCTAAAAAAAR!!!”

“THAT’S FAR ENOUGH, BIG BOY!” Gwen blocked his path, leveling the barrel of her rifle at the dead center of his chest, her gritted teeth and the ominous clacking of her weapon making it clear that he would not pass.

“So … how does it feel, Davros?” the Doctor glared vengefully, his voice low and gravelly. “Being healed? Being whole?”

“YOU HAVE CRIPPLED ME!!!” Davros protested.

“Wait … what?” Rose squinted in confusion.

Martha cocked her head to one side, gazing sidelong at Davros. “Oh my God,” she gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “I get it. It’s like … amputees, or paraplegics … the patients who adapt and overcome most successfully are the ones who don’t see themselves as … disabled. At Royal Hope, I treated this one bloke, who’d lost both his legs and his left arm, in a car accident years before.” She chuckled ruefully at the parallels to the towering man looming before her. “He’d already pedaled halfway ‘round the world, using this specially designed … tricycle, that he could pedal with just his right arm. He was actually … grateful, for his accident, because it had forced him to change his life, and do things he never would have done otherwise.”

“That’s it, isn’t it?” Mickey snorted, spotting the tightening of Davros’ jaw at Martha’s diagnosis. “Oh, you’re happy enough to play Hannibal Lecter, but it’s not so much fun once the tables are turned, is it?”

“Hate sustained your drive to survive,” the Doctor strode forward, craning his neck up to meet Davros’ unblinking stare, “but it’s necessity that was the mother of your inventions, wasn’t it? You were made a prisoner in your own body … your mind was trapped, by the very same machinery that you needed to keep you alive. You were confined in a cage, except it was one that you literally couldn’t live without. Oh, but you’re Davros … you’re ever so clever, and you’ve got the most indomitable will in the universe, so you’re not about to let a little thing like that get in the way of your goals of ultimate power. So what do you do? Ah, now, this is the genius part … you turn your weakness into a strength, creating an entire race of creatures just like you, their helplessly squishy organic bits locked up in cold, unfeeling, impervious metal casings. All that built-up resentment, over all the pain and suffering and humiliation that you endured, became your justification for visiting infinitely greater amounts of the same on everyone else –”

“Except now, it’s all gone,” Rose made the connection, barely believing that it could be so simple. “Take away his weakness, and you take away his strength.”

Davros’ snarl faltered, but was soon replaced by a smug sneer. “No matter,” he insisted. “I’ll soon turn this weakness into a strength, as well.” He ripped open his tunic and proudly slapped his bare chest. “After all, Doctor, thanks to you, I now have far more genetic material, from which to create new and better Daleks –”

“Yeah, good luck with that one, sunshine,” Donna guffawed.

“The regeneration was my gift to you, as a Time Lord,” the Doctor clarified. “It was also the last regeneration you’ll ever have, because the other gift you’ve received is your brand new DNA, courtesy of Donna Noble. Every last trace of your Kaled genetic structure has been overwritten. You’re 100-percent human now, Davros. Even if you could create Daleks from your own genetic material, they’d be like you are now … impure … the hopelessly flawed products of a flawed god,” the Doctor thrust his chin out, relishing the opportunity to throw Davros’ own refrain back in his face. “So, I’ll ask you again … how does it feel?”

Davros’ face fell. “YOU HAVE VIOLATED ME!!!” he screamed, utterly defeated.

“VIOLATED?!?!?!” the Doctor bellowed back in outrage. “YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT THE WORD MEANS!!! YOU WANT VIOLATION?!?!?! THIS IS VIOLATION!!!”

With that, the Doctor snatched Davros’ head between his hands, and for Davros, everything went black.
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Flash-forward:

You are an ordinary human who has done an extraordinary amount of good for humanity.

Even among the tireless go-getters and bright-and-shining stars of the Mr. Copper Foundation, you’ve quickly managed to stand head and shoulders above your coworkers.

You’ve gained a deserved reputation for being a committed advocate for protecting the welfare of women and children, and a crusader against ethnic and religious persecution.

And yet, the inexplicable irony is that you can barely stand to be around other people.

You’re constantly on the receiving end of handshakes and hugs and pats on the back and kisses on the cheek, but each time someone touches you with affection or gratitude, you feel … tainted.

It seems like the whole world simply can’t stop telling you how wonderful you are, but every compliment and word of thanks grates more offensively than an intentional slur, because you don’t want their admiration or adoration … you want their fear, and anything less is an insult.
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The program you spearheaded to help stem the spread of infectious diseases in Africa has already saved hundreds of lives. Husband-and-wife doctors Milligan and Jones fly all the way from Nairobi to London to present you with an award in person.

Dr. Milligan literally has tears in his eyes as he grips your hand, and his mewling over the plight of the children he’s treated nearly turns your stomach. Dr. Jones smirks slyly at you as she hands you the ornately engraved plaque bearing your name. For a split-second, you fantasize about grabbing it and bashing her face in with it. You instead accept it with a curt nod, forcing a grimace of a polite smile onto your face.
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Ms. Noble is your closest coworker at the Mr. Copper Foundation. You often work on the same charitable campaigns on behalf of children. Her genuine fondness for children is distastefully maternal. Even though she appears to make an effort to restrain herself when speaking to you, she’s still bossy and obnoxious enough to irritate you when she’s anywhere within your earshot.

She introduces you to her fiancé, Mr. McAvoy, a stuttering lummox of a man who seems, unfortunately enough, ideally suited to her. You want to mock his stammer, and make him feel every bit as stupid as he sounds. You instead supply him with the number of a speech therapist with a stellar track record. Within two months, he’s e-mailing video clips of himself reciting love poems to her. Her delighted guffaws sound like the honking of a goose.
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Ms. Smith is the journalist who interrupts your schedule to interview you at the office. You’ve begun to recognize a certain look, among certain people – Ms. Smith, Ms. Noble, Dr. Jones – almost as though they know something that you don’t. It’s the smugness in their smiles, and the superiority in their stares … it leaves you convinced that they’re laughing at you, as irrationally unsubstantiated as you know this belief to be.

Four months after Ms. Smith’s aggravatingly upbeat article on your “good works” sees print, attracting even more unwanted attention, you receive a card inviting you to her wedding, to a Mr. Jackson. You soon learn that Ms. Smith and Ms. Noble have become fast friends, which is presumably what inspired Ms. Noble to schedule a double-wedding for the two of them. In spite of her age, Mrs. Jackson (who still goes by Ms. Smith) looks remarkably youthful and radiant in her subsequent wedding photos. You find this inexplicably depressing.
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At a cocktail party you’ve been socially obligated to attend, you’re approached by Mrs. Saxon, widow of the former prime minister. She strikes up a conversation with you, and for the first time in … well, as long as you can remember, you’re actually pleased to be talking with someone.

At the end of the evening, she discreetly slips you a piece of paper. In another first, you don’t reflexively throw away a phone number given to you by an attractive woman.
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In every deed you’ve done, you are nothing less than a devoted humanitarian, but deep in your heart, you hate human beings. And yet, you feel compelled, almost as if against your own will, to help them. It’s like a sickness.
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You overhear Ms. Noble (who now goes by Mrs. McAvoy) hushing up your coworkers’ gossip, as you round the corner toward your cubicle. Even behind your back, though, their opinions of you are far too positive for your liking. They mistake your contempt for shyness, and your revulsion for modesty.

“Yep,” she chuckles at her own private joke. “He just wants to make people’s lives better, and he’s too humble to even want to take credit for it. That’s our Dave Ross.”