On the Fritz (c) Susannah Tiller 1998 This Time Round created by Tyler Dion. It was a Thursday, the first Thursday of the month, and This Time Round was full of people, despite the driving rain outside. At one of the corner tables, Bernice Summerfield and the Sixth Doctor were having a drinking competition.         "Go it, Benny," Ace yelled. Mel frowned at her, then leant forward to the Doctor. "It's doing terrible things to your liver, you know."         He looked back at her. "Liver? Liver? My dear Mel, a Timelord's physiognomy is not so archaic as to rely on a liver. My body possesses no less than five stict... distunckt... dishticnt regions to -"         He finished his sentence abruptly by sliding forward onto the table. Benny cheered to herself, and raised her glass high. Mel frowned. "Look, don't you have essays to mark, or something?"         As Mel heaved the unconscious Timelord from the table, Benny glanced at her watch. "Oh, cruk. I'm late for a tutorial." With a wheezing, groaning noise, she slowly vanished from view.         "Oy," shouted the barman. "Who's going to pick up your tab, then?"         Ace flipped a coin onto the counter at him, with deliberate slowness, showing off every muscle in her body. "I'll pay," she whispered, seductively.         "Leave it off, Ace," Mel shot back. "You know he's a confirmed bachelor."        At the bar, the Eighth Doctor, Sam and Jacqueline Maguire were engaged in a long-winded discussion on continuity.         "So, let me see if I've got this straight," Maguire said.         "That'd be a first," Sam said to no-one in particular, and helped herself to Maguire's scotch when no-one was looking.         "There's three distinct schools of though as to my exact placing within the canon," Maguire continued.         "Exactly," the Doctor said. "The Aaronovitch school of though puts you somewhere in the middle of Vampire Science, while the Dowgiert school of thought puts you somewhere in the Internet Adventures. And the Peel crowd, dear oh dear -"         "What?" Maguire asked.         Sam snuck another sip of scotch.         "The Peel school doesn't believe you existed at all."         "Not existed?" Maguire bellowed. "Look, I exist all right." She turned to Sam. "Either buy yourself one, or stop nicking my stuff."         "I, um -" Sam's next comments were lost, as the pub's door burst open. A figure entered, almost propelled by the wind and rain. His features were lost within the large overcoat he wore. For a second, there was silence.         Then the figure took another step forward. "Erm, excuse me, I'm looking for the Doctor."         "Doctor WHO?" chorused nine doctors, twelve companions, and a slightly bewildered Sontaran.         "Oh, ha, ha, very bloody funny," the man - for it was a man - said. "I'm the new companion. Fritz Kreiner. I'm supposed to be meeting the Doctor here."         The Eighth Doctor turned to Maguire. "Well, that buggers up the continuity, then," he said.