Part 5

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It seemed to be taking them ages to work their way through the eternal pile of fan mail. At one point Donna exclaimed, "Why does this being a fan of someone involve so much underwear?! You'd think the universe was overrun with too many pairs of knickers with the way they carry on. A lifetime 'buy one get one free' offer going on across the galaxy."

"I really don't know," the Doctor commiserated. He then held high a pair of bloomers with the sender's initials embroidered on them, in a large decoratively floral font. "Look at these from a Georgian admirer. A little over the top, I would say, Donna. Why would a young woman do such a thing?"

"No idea," she admitted, "but I can guess why a mature one would."

"Donna!"

She didn't even bother to pretend to look innocent behind her amused smirk. For some reason it always felt good to get him to exclaim in disgust like that.

"Never mind them. They're old hat, or old bloomers, depending on where you want to put them, I suppose," she commented, ripping open a sealed envelope. Peeking inside at the contents, she jubilantly offered, "Unlike this little beauty. True romance, this is."

His curiosity was instantly piqued. "Why? What have you got there?"

Holding it aloft, she proclaimed, "A heavily scented letter written in dark red ink. Not sure if it's from a male, female, or in-between, since I don't recognise the name, but it doesn't matter. And get this, they're asking you to marry them."

After sniffing the air, the Doctor didn't quite know how to tell her. "Erm… that isn't ink, Donna."

She turned it in her hand to peer closely at the letter. "It isn't? Looks like ink. What is it then?"

"It's blood," he stated. "Turn down their proposal as soon as possible!"

"Will do," she readily vowed. "Although if they are offering a relationship with a vampire, it might have the longevity you need."

"Donna," he growled, making her chuckle again.

"It could work," she protested in order to mock him. "Unlike a relationship with the woman in this letter…"

"Oh?" He leaned closer to look at the newest opened piece of fan mail. "What's wrong with her?"

"This," she said, producing a pile of fluffy cat fur from the confines of the envelope. "Some nutter is going around shearing their cat."

But his resultant gasp was even more horrified than she'd expected. "How can you even show that to me, Donna? Have you no decorum?"

A bit missyish, she thought. Or more like a Jane Austen father, so she merely shrugged despairingly in reply. "I would if I knew where to find it."

His roar of laughter was totally worth it. He eventually brought himself back to the subject with a cough. "Yes, well. Just add that one to the polite 'no thank you' pile. Humanoid cats are not my thing."

"Alright." Having placed the whole thing into a box marked 'no', she opened another large letter. This time the result made her smile at the cute photo that fell out. "Aw, look Doctor! They've sent a picture of their pet chihuahua. Isn't it sweet? I miss having a dog."

"About that photo," he cautiously began, "that isn't a chihuahua, Donna, and also not their pet."

It certainly looked like a small dog to her. "Then what is it?"

"Their child," he revealed, taking the accompanying letter from the desktop to read.

"Really! Takes all sorts, I suppose." She gazed at the non-dog child, trying to imagine what the parents looked like.

"And it looks nothing like me," he continued, not raising his eyes up from his reading. "Whatever was she thinking, claiming that I'm the father?"

"Yeah…," she started to agree. "Hang on! You're the father?!"

"I said 'claimed', Donna," he stressed. "Please read my lips."

"You'll be trying to read mine through black eyes in a minute if you don't stop taking that tone with me, sunshine!" she threatened, lifting a hand in demonstration.

"Sorry, Donna." He did his very best to appear contrite. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he quietly suggested.

"I'd love one, thanks. I'm spitting feathers here."

He frowned. "I thought we received cat fur, not feathers."

"Ha ha," she mocked him. "It's just a saying. No idea why feathers are involved when you're thirsty."

"Perhaps we can arrange a visit 'feather' into the past in order to find out," he joked, and waited for the groan at his intended pun.

Rolling her eyes in exasperation he should still use such feeble jokes; she accepted his suggestion. "That'd be different. But for now, arrange a visit to the kitchen where the tea things are."

Bowing deeply, he gave her a saucy grin. "Your wish is my command."

"Just as it should be," she muttered as he walked away, hoping that he'd heard her anyway. Well, the old boy needed a tease or two. It did him good.