Part 3

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"Good grief, I need a rest," Donna complained as she slouched back on her chair. "A cup of tea would be great."

"Thanks, I'd love one," the Doctor trilled, looking annoyingly fresh after their labours.

"That was a hint, sunshine, for you to make me a cup."

"But I've been busy signing," he protested, holding up a pen in demonstration.

"Is that what pens are for? Who'd have thought," she sarcastically retorted. "I've been answering all your letters with individual replies, typing my fingertips off for your benefit, so the least you could do is put the kettle on."

"Alright," he reluctantly agreed. "I'll do us a tea. But I still think you ought to learn how to fake my signature."

"Reputation!" she called after his retreating back. "We can't have people across the universe thinking you're a fraud, in any shape or form!" Not hearing a reply from afar, she muttered to herself, "Doesn't mean that I'm not allowed to think it from time to time, though. Anyway, let's see what someone from 1970 wants to tell you. Hopefully, it isn't from a Sylvia Noble telling you she's pregnant and you're the father."

She allowed herself a hearty chuckle at the thought as she ripped open a rather officious looking envelope. Inside was a letter with a fancy stamp at the top, but her mind was momentarily caught by her admiration of the typing. There's always time to appreciate a professional.

"Let's see. 'Dear The Doctor, we would like to express our gratitude by offering you a life membership to our vintage car club,'" she read out loud. "Hm?! Why would they do that? Unless the Transformers film was based on a real-life event that I've never heard of because I wasn't even born at the time. Weird though. Hang on, there's something attached." She turned the letter over to examine a small business card sized piece of paper. "'Member, the Doctor. Car, Bessie. Number plate, WHO1.' No, you are kidding! Did he really? Well, I never. No wonder he knew how to drive the car to follow Agatha Christie. I never thought to ask at the time, but I will now when he gets back with this tea. What else can I open first?"

Her gaze fell on an enticingly thick parcel covered in all manner of colourful stamps. "Ooh, this looks interesting. What does Ms Anderson from the fourth human colony of planet Astrax what to tell you?"

From a large package, she extracted a heartfelt letter, sprayed with some cloying perfume, and several items of what looked like clothing.

"No!" Donna exclaimed. "It can't be." On closer inspection, she decided, "Yes, it is. Where's my phone?"

Mentally thanking the Doctor for giving them infinite roaming, she waited for the call she'd hurriedly made to be answered.

"Martha! How are you? Guess what I'm doing."

"I'm fine," Martha replied, "although you've caught me in the middle of a horrible shift. What are you up to?"

"Are there nasty aliens involved? Do I need to tell the Doctor to come right away?"

"There's no need to bother him," Martha insisted. "We're sorting it out on our own. Just a bit tiring, that's all. I assume you are phoning me to boast about something."

"Not exactly," Donna cautiously replied. "More like wanting to amuse you."

"Oh? I'm liking this call a lot more now."

"The thing is…" Donna clasped the phone closer to her mouth and checked to see if the Doctor was anywhere near before continuing, "I've found this room, almost full to the brim with fan mail for the Doctor. From all over the galaxy, if not the universe, and from every point in time."

"Fan mail," Martha echoed in surprise. "Have you been able to look at any of it?"

"Yes! But get this; not only that, I'm helping him answer most of it," Donna happily trilled. "You wouldn't believe how many people think he's the bee's knees. Well, perhaps you would, considering… Anyhow, I've just opened this package from a future human colony, and it must contain every type of saucy underwear you can imagine."

"For a man or a woman?"

"I'm assuming a woman, but who am I to judge. I'll send you a photo in a moment," Donna promised.

"No you won't," a stern voice told her as the mobile phone was ripped from her grasp. The Doctor then spoke in his best customer services voice. "Hello Martha. How lovely to hear from you again. What's that about Donna? Ah. Well, you see, Donna seems to have forgotten about the privacy and confidentiality of my correspondents, so I'd appreciate it if you ignored what she just said. Call it a brain glitch, if you will. Anyway, I'm sure she will talk to you again soon, and I'll let you get back to your duties. Bye!"

Donna glared at him for some moments.

"What?" he innocently demanded.

In reply, she snatched her phone back out of his hand. "That was rude. If your rule is 'don't tell previous companions' then you should have actually informed me by now!"

"I have! I just did," he futilely pointed out. "Right then, when I spoke in front of you."

"And for me," she fumed, "as if I'm a flipping kid."

"Which you are, compared to me," he airily maintained. "Now drink your tea before it gets cold."

Anger flared even brighter in her. "I'll do more than drink my tea," she declared, "if you carry on treating me like this! I am not some young flibbertigibbet waiting to fawn all over you."

"I never said anything of the sort about you. Where did you get that idea?" he gasped. "It was a backhanded compliment, admittedly, to point out your youthfulness compared to me, but I wasn't trying to offend you. Sorry." He stepped closer to tenderly apologise, "Please accept my cup of tea as token of friendship, going from my foolishness to your wisdom."

"All right then," she huffed, and accepted the cup from him. "You're forgiven. For now."

"Good." He clapped his hands together. "Apparently you have something to share with me, sent by an adoring fan," he stressed, looking at the package in her lap.