A/N: with a bit of encouragement from giff4088 & Winter_S_Jameson, this sequel to A Fan-tasy happened.

Part 2

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Sighing deeply, Donna considered her newly appointed task with some trepidation. After all, the reputation of the last of the Time Lords rested in her hands. "Okay, out with it. How come you've got so many unopened letters? Enough to fill a whole room."

Said Time Lord scraped his hand down his left sideburn as eh considered the question. "Well, the TARDIS acquires them as and when we pass a particular time zone. Anything sent before and up to that time arrives here."

"And…," she encouraged him to continue. "There's obviously more to it than that."

He tried to shake away a reluctant memory and almost failed. "Just before I last encountered the Master with Martha, we went to the very end of the universe. To a place called Utopia."

"The very end?" She gawped at the Doctor in shock. "But that would mean every single point in time you could possibly receive a letter from had passed by."

"Exactly," he confirmed. "Hence all this."

"Why didn't you deal with some it then?" she unthinkingly asked and then caught herself. "Oh. A bit tied up with all that cancelled year nonsense. Sorry."

He nodded his acceptance of her apology.

"Still… loads to do. Especially for me," she announced. "Do you want to see the photos I'm thinking of sending?"

Now feeling brighter, he responded, "Yes, please. Did you capture my good side?"

"How can I when you've hidden it so well," she teased. "Nah, you look like a bag of spanners, but I assume your adoring fans won't care that much." From a folder, she produced several images and fanned them out on the desktop in front of them for him to judge. "You'll have to excuse me lacking photographic skills, but we can't all be David Bailey. Here are the ones I started trying out black and white stuff with."

Various candid shots of him outside the TARDIS, sniffing, looking down, and a shocked reaction to her brandishing a camera, all peered up at him, somewhat accusingly.

"Not exactly flattering," he grouched.

"I thought so too," she agreed, "so I went with this using one, with you looking all Doctor-y.."

This time she placed an image of him standing by the TARDIS door, with his trademark left eyebrow raised. A much better image, he decided.

She continued her description, unabated, "…and turned it into several images. I've gone to pretend charcoal sketch, old faded black and white photo, and modern arty monochrome images to send. Plus, a profile one for good luck. What do you think?"

Using his fingers to fan the photos out further on the desk, he carefully chose his words. "I see. And what about the one you're hiding?"

Startled by his observation, she cautiously placed another photo down.

"You mean this one?" she pretended to query. "It's the one you took for me. I just thought that, should someone actually ask about me, I'd have one ready. Since I like that photo and not for any other reason."

He quirked an eyebrow. "What other reason could there possibly be?"

The memory of her grabbing him for a kiss tried to invade her mind but she resisted its attempt. Assaulting his lips had been bad enough without raking all that up again. "Meeting Agatha Christie, as some sort of memento. She was nice."

"She was," he agreed. "Yes, these will do."

"That sorts out one part of the process," she declared, clapping her hands. "What do you want to do about souvenirs?"

"Souvenirs? Why am I providing souvenirs? There's nothing from the TARDIS I can give."

"There is something," she maintained, peering at his head. "A lock of hair, perhaps."

"Give my hair!" he exploded. "Don't I give enough as it is?"

"I don't mean great big walloping chunks, you prawn," she chastised him. "I'm only talking about the odd request, but since you're so reluctant to cut your split ends off, we'll forget about it."

"Good," he huffed in relief. "Split ends? Are you accusing me of not looking after my hair?" he demanded.

After peering really closely at his hair, she gave him a decisive, "Nah. It was just a joke, so I'm sorry for offending you. Hopefully, we won't have someone asking for the clothes off your back, or more likely off your bottom."

"Eugh! Dread the thought," he agreed, with a sniff.

"Although we do have that vast wardrobe of clothes from your past to recycle, should you ever want to get rid of any of them."

"Don't even think about it," he warned.

"Even your version of Joseph's amazing technicolour dreamcoat?"

"Especially that coat," he insisted. "It's a classic."

"But a classic what? That's the question," she noted to herself. Clasping her hands together, she rallied him with the words, "Alright, Mr Fandom, let's get on with it. Grab yourself a pen; you've got some signing to do."