Donna had grown used to the dreams. Mostly. With the things she'd seen, she could hardly expect to avoid a nightmare or two. Nothing she couldn't manage, of course, though it didn't hurt that the Doctor always seemed to know and to be particularly breezy in the morning, as if he could dispel the darkness with his grin.
This, however, wasn't the kind of dream she was used to. They weren't usually so vivid, for one, and they rarely involved lavish cocktail parties in high-ceilinged rooms and servants attending to her.
"Would you care for another centimmian?" a young woman in a smart suit and top hat asked her.
"Another what?" Donna said.
The woman smiled and lifted the tray in her hand a little higher. It held several glasses filled with heavy silver mist, not quite liquid but clearly intended for drinking. Donna barely noticed them—it was that smile, somehow achingly familiar even though she knew she'd never seen this woman before. The name came to her anyway.
"You're Rose," she said. "Rose Tyler." Rose Tyler, in her dream and offering her a drink. She didn't think this was going to be a nightmare.
Both of them jumped, startled. The voice belonged to someone Donna had met.
"Martha?" she said as the third woman joined them. Martha Jones was also wearing an elegant suit and top hat, along with a monocle and white gloves. The head waiter, Donna thought vaguely. There was probably some kind of significance to the fact that she was dreaming about the Doctor's earlier companions serving her, but she preferred not to dwell on that.
"I beg your pardon," Martha said. She turned to Rose. "I told you not to annoy the guests."
"I'm not annoying anyone!"
"Oh, it's fine, she's not annoying me," Donna said. Martha and Rose ignored her.
"I'm afraid this is the last straw, Rose," Martha said. "You've caused too much trouble and I've put up with it for far too long. I'm going to have to sack you and… divest you of your uniform."
"What?" Donna said. This was definitely not how her dreams usually went.
"Fine," Rose said tartly. "Since you've sacked me, I guess I'm not a waiter anymore." She dropped the tray. It clattered to the ground, the silver gas-liquid pouring out to pool at Martha's feet. "Whoops."
The expression on Martha's face could've made a charging rhino turn tail, Donna reflected. Not Rose Tyler, though, who merely smirked.
"Take off that uniform," Martha growled. "Or I'll take it off you."
"Oh. Is that a promise?"
"Hold on," Donna said. "This is a sexual harassment suit in the making." She looked around. The party continued as if nothing was happening; no one even looked over.
"I apologize for this appalling display," Martha said to her. "But it can't be helped. She simply must be punished."
"Not on my account—really, I wasn't offended at all."
"Don't bother," Rose said. "She's had it in for me since I first started working here." She tossed her hat onto the floor by the tray. Her hair tumbled down over her shoulders like a model's in a shampoo commercial. The suit jacket was next, slipping easily off her shoulders. Then her fingers reached for the shirt buttons.
"Punish me, Martha? I always knew you wanted me." She popped the first button and grinned, tongue peeking out of the corner of her mouth.
"That's it. You are finally going to learn some respect."
Martha grabbed Rose and spun her around, twisting her hands up behind her. Rose only laughed and wiggled her hips, making no attempt to free herself.
"Off with the trousers!" Martha said.
"You'll have to give me a hand, I'm being restrained by a mad waitress in a monocle."
"Fine. Just remember you asked for it."
"Oi!" Donna said. She should probably avert her eyes. But then, it was just a dream—besides, it wasn't her fault if someone decided to get frisky in front of her. There was absolutely nothing wrong with watching Martha hold on to Rose's wrists with one hand while sliding the other around to undo her zipper. Or watching Rose shift her hips until the trousers slid down (with Martha's help), revealing a rather nice bum clad in silky pink panties.
"Pink. Of course," Martha said.
"The Doctor loves pink," Rose said.
Martha rolled her eyes. "Well?" she said to Donna. "Should I spank her, or do you want to do it, Doctor?"
"What?" Donna said. "Where?" She looked around frantically. If he was somehow here, seeing what she was dreaming about…
Rose quirked an eyebrow at her. "Well, Doctor?"
Donna had a sudden inkling. She looked down at herself to find that she was wearing a brown, pin-striped suit. She looked back up at Rose and Martha watching her expectantly. She remembered that she lived on a telepathic spaceship.
"Oh my God. I'm going to kill him."
The Doctor was sipping a cup of tea when Donna slammed her mug down onto the table.
"Um. Morning?" he said as she poured hot water with rather more enthusiasm than was necessary.
"Good morning," she said sweetly. "Have a nice night?"
"Smashing. Instructive. Really very enlightening. You pervert."
"What?" the Doctor choked in mid-gulp. "What do you—?"
"'Should I spank her, or do you want to?'" Donna mimicked. "Just want to be mates, indeed."
"Er," the Doctor said, turning remarkably red.
"Not that I really expected any better. The only thing that surprises me is that there weren't more of them. Just two out of all the people you've travelled with? Or do you have filthy little fantasies planned out for every one of us? Maybe on a rotating schedule, a different one every night of the week?"
"N-no, I can explain, honest," the Doctor said, recovering a bit. "The TARDIS—"
"Yeah, I figured as much. Now let's just get one thing clear. If you ever, ever think of me that way—awake or asleep—I will find you and I will come for you no matter what universe you may have got me stuck in. And then you'll truly learn the meaning of the word 'punishment'."
Over the rim of her mug, she observed that the Doctor had now grown rather pale. Well. At least if he did invent any kinky fantasies about her, she'd wager that she would be the one doing the spanking.