She can't believe he's talked her into wearing a corset, and nothing fun like the French lace corset she bought at Agent Provocateur either. No, this is a proper laced corset, stiffened with whale bone, lifting her breasts practically to her chin.
She can't even bend properly to retrieve the silk and velvet nightmare laid out across the foot of the bed like some sort of late eighteenth century dress-shaped straitjacket. She's forced to resort to something between a curtsy and a deep-knee bend to scoop it up instead.
It's all right for him isn't it, she thinks rather crossly as she struggles into the voluminously awkward gown. A suit's essentially a suit no matter the century. Won't find him squeezing himself into the bodice from hell.
There's a tentative knock at the door. Without thinking Donna grunts a distracted "come in," and a moment later the Doctor bounces into the room.
Donna barely looks up at him as she critically regards herself in the mirror, self-consciously smoothing the heavy fabric at her hips.
"You look," the Doctor hesitates, and Donna eyes his reflection stood behind her looking dapper in a cutaway coat and breeches. Rosy spots stand out on both his cheeks as if all the blood has suddenly rushed to his face.
"Ridiculous I know," she mutters rolling her eyes, "you're the one who insisted on "going native," remember?"
"Beautiful," he finishes softly, "I was going to say you look beautiful."
Donna scowls at him. "Are you taking the piss?" she demands tartly.
"What? No!" he cries, looking startled.
"Don't tease," she continues, "it's beneath you, not to mention cruel. I mean, I don't go round poking fun at that ridiculous hair of yours, do I?"
"I wasn't mocking you," the Doctor insists, "you really do look beautiful, breathtaking actually," he pulls a sudden face, "and what's wrong with my hair?!"
"So what, was that meant to be some sort of compliment?" Donna murmurs, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"You have heard of them," the Doctor says, sighing in exasperation.
"Of course I have," Donna snaps, "I just don't know what to make of one coming from you, that's all."
"What are you talking about?" the Doctor demands, "I compliment you all the time."
"You look taller than usual, are those new shoes; hardly counts as a compliment," Donna says, rolling her eyes.
"You really think I'm beautiful?" She asks after a moment's pause.
"I do."
The fraction of a smile touches her lips as she studies her reflection with a deal more charity this time. What does it say for her modern sensibilities that she feels exceedingly feminine in the figure-hugging gown? Not to mention, and it pains her to admit this, the corset's done wonders for her posture as well.
"I suppose you'll be expecting a compliment in return," she says dryly, her eyes returning to the Doctor's face.
"I wasn't fishing-" he starts.
"Fine then," Donna says, cutting him off with a theatrical sigh, "you're not all-together unattractive yourself."
"For a skinny streak of nothing you mean," the Doctor says, his eyes sparkling wryly.
Donna's smile warms a bit at that, "For a start," she says.
THE END
