"Finished, Summerfield! You're finished!"

With a throaty growl of delight, Bernice Summerfield flung her marking stylus aside and leaned back in her chair with her hands laced behind her head, a vast grin of satisfaction playing across her face. Finally, after a month of distraction after distraction (some pleasant, some not so pleasant, some down right bloody lethal), she'd actually got some work done. Some proper, University related work.

And wasn't she just pleased with herself.

"Like the proverbial feline that got the proverbial lactose-based by-product," she declared, casting a glance towards the chair Wolsey, her pet cat, usually occupied. It was empty now, as it usually was at this time in the evening. The tabby tom was off on his habitual nocturnal prowl. Bernice glanced at the clock and considered the time piece thoughtfully.

"But what shall I do now? Witch & Whirlwind to celebrate?" She shook her head, patting her stomach ruefully. Since the Garland College bar had introduced that Mercurian Grugg-Ale on tap the wastebands on all her trousers and skirts had become decidedly tighter. Of course she didn't have to drink it, but since she was the one who'd kicked up a fuss to get a keg or two she felt obliged to consume it. "No, better not..."

Her eyes swept around the rest of the room, paused on the antique vidunit in one corner. "A movie?" she wondered out loud. One of the classics, maybe... she got up and wandered over to the shelf she kept her collection of tapes on, and flicked through it. She stopped every now and then and wrinkled her nose.

"Not that... not that... nope... no, saw that last week... no... nope... what? 'Invasion of the Love Monkeys'? I'll kill Anjanette... no... no... oh no."

She stepped back and scratched her head. That was the trouble with having too much choice, she supposed. Not like the old days, during her digs. Like that time on Zestor, when all she had available for her little portable was a choice of three; 'The Longest Day' (she despised war movies, but had fun watching it with the sound down and making up her own dialogue - for a while), some Bollywood epic, the title of which she couldn't remember (nor pronounce, probably), and the complete third season of 'Friends' (which, she recalled, she swapped with some Amagond trader for some haemerroid ointment. Highly fitting, really).

Then her gaze settled upon one of her book shelves, and happened to catch on one book in particular. "Yes!" she said, and marched across the room and plucked it loose. She thumbed through it briefly then nodded to herself. "Why not... I've been meaning to settle down with this for ages. Yes... what better than a quiet night in with a good book!"

Satisfied with her decision, she went into the kitchen area and knocked herself up a double strength hot chocolate, with extra sprinkles and just a wee nip of Napoleon brandy. Purely medicinal.

Book and mug clutched tightly in hand, Bernice scurried into her bedroom, hurriedly wriggled out of her shirt and trousers, and tucked herself up in bed. Then she settled back with a contented sigh, opened the book and took her first sip of chocolate.

At which point, the communications unit on her desk began to trill.

At first she tried to ignore it, but it was one of those sneaky models that grew louder and shriller and more insistant the longer you left it. Ordinarily she would have flung the wretched thing out the window but it was a College regulations that all staff had to have an operational communications unit in their quarters. She'd tried to get round it by hiding it first in the airing cupboard, then under the sink, then in the toilet cistern, but that just made the thing ring even louder and shriller, so she had to content herself with burying it under a mound of paperwork on her desk.

And naturally, because life tended to be irritating like that, there wasn't a connection point in her bedroom for the thing, so she always had to get up to answer it. Like now.

She stomped across the room and snatched the handset up up. It always astonished her how low tech some of the College internal communication network was. Other people were given stylish and decorative lapel communicators and things, but oh no, they gave her something that went out of style with Busby the British Telecom Budgie.

"Hello?" she snapped. "What? Who? No, this is not the Farriford College IT Help Desk. What? I don't care if this is the extension number you were given, this isn't it. No. NO. What? No, I do not know how to debug a lightspeed harddrive. No, nor do I know about that. Nor that, either. What do you mean, what is the point of me being here? No, I CANNOT reconnect you to the switchboard. Why not? Because I'm NOT a crukking switchboard operator! And I'm not particularly bothered if you think that's NOT the sort of language an academic should be using! Oh, NOW who's being unacademic! And a jolly good night to you too!"

Bernice slammed the handset down and stood there glaring at it for few moments, daring it to sound again. It didn't, so she stomped back to bed.

"What is the point of me being here, indeed... cheeky sod!"

She slithered back beneath the duvet and picked up her book and chocolate again. It was starting to get cold, she noted sourly. Typical.

She was just in the process of swallowing her second mouthful when there was a knock at the door. Several repeated knocks, in fact. Glowering and grumbling, Bernice levered herself out again and padded back across the room to the door, pulling her dressing gown on as she came. She was getting into the knack of doing that again, after all those complaints she got about her habit of answering the door in only her undies, and sometimes less than that. Mind you, not everyone complained...

"Yes? Hello?"

She opened the door to reveal a tall someone dressed in a very dark, ankle length coat, with a broad brimmed hat of some kind pulled low over their features. How odd.

"Don't move," it grated, and it was then she noticed something else odd about it. Very odd, and not a little disturbing.

It was holding a gun. And it was pointing at her stomach.

"I can assure you," she said, retreating back into the room before it, "that I have absolutely little of value worth nicking, and if you've come here intending me any harm, I ought to warn you that my boyfriend - and his two - THREE twin brothers, are due back from the chip shop any second now. And they're all unarmed combat experts in the Marine Space Corps. Come to that, so am I."

"Silence!" the figure hissed, closing the door behind them.

"You must be joking! Unarmed expert or not, I can assure you that if you attempt ANYTHING, you'll find out how UN-silent I can be!"

"Cease your prattling, Summerfield!" it hissed.

"So you know me then..."

"Of course! And you... KNOW ME!"

With that, it reached up and flung the hat aside. Bernice blinked, expecting some sort of dramatic, oh-my-gosh-it's-YOU sort of revelation, but instead...

"Erm... no, actually I don't."

"What?" The man, a rather nondescript and essentially non-threatening looking man it had to be said, blinked at her in in some surprise. "Do not play me the fool, Summerfield! It is I!" He jutted his jaw in a manner presumably intended to be terrifying, but all it did was offer a rather unflattering view of the inside of his nostrils.

"No, I'm sorry," said Bernice, folding her arms. "But honest, I've never seen you before in my life."

The man opened his mouth to say something else, then paused, whipped up an arm and tugged the sleeve back, revealed a large and rather ornate bracelet. He studied it for a moment, then looked at Bernice again and asked:

"Um, what is today's date?"

"April 19th. Tuesday."

"Ah," he said, suddenly looking a little sheepish. "Ah."

"Ah?" repeated Bernice.

"I'm early."

"What?"

"Yes. By a week. Bugger."

Bernice sighed. "Bit new to time travel, are we?"

The man looked a little crestfallen. "Does it show?"

"Mmmm."

"Right. Well." He smiled, and gave a stiff little formal bow, clicking his heels together as he did. "I shall bid you a good night, then."

"Okay," said Bernice. Well, what else COULD she say?

He turned, opened the door, and left, closing it behind him again. A few seconds later, there was another knock. Bernice opened it - cautiously.

It was him again. He had an apologetic expression on his face.

"Yes?" she asked.

"I, um, left my hat."

Bernice smiled sweetly.

"Well, you can pick it up when you come calling next week, can't you?"

And she closed the door in his face.

"Loony," she muttered, crawling back into bed again. Her hot chocolate was even colder now, but she wasn't going to waste the brandy.

The door clattered again. Bernice raised her eyes heavenwards.

"If it's him again," she muttered crossly, "I really WILL show him my unarmed combat expertise..."

But it wasn't him. It was someone MUCH worse.

"Oh NO! You! I mean, YOU you!"

It was a tall, young looking man with a wild and tangled mane of long brown hair, the bluest imaginable eyes, the widest smile and about the worst set of clothing she'd seen in ages. And about the second worst set of clothing she'd seen on HIM.

"Hi Bernice! Do excuse my knocking you up at this hour-"

"I BEG your pardon?!?"

"-but I was wondering if you still had Wolsey around, hmmm?" He craned his neck and peered round Bernice's shoulder hopefully, trying to catch a glimpse of the cat.

"What do you want with Wolsey? You're not thinking of taking him back are you?"

"What?" He looked at her again with a rather startled look. "No no, I don't think he'd get on with Fitz. No, y'see there's something in his collar - he is still wearing that collar I gave him, I suppose?"

"Ye-es..."

"And well, I - that is to say the previous me - put that something in the collar for a rainy day, sort of thing. As was my wont."

Nothing changes, she thought ruefully. "And now I suppose it's raining?"

He blinked at her gravely. "Positively bucketing. Still!" He grinned again, rubbing his hands, "that won't be a problem - I hope?"

Bernice rubbed wearily at her brow. This was all becoming a bit much, suddenly. "No, it's not a problem," she said slowly, "but he's not here."

He gasped. Bernice could have put a lit firework in his buttonhole and not got a better reaction. "Where is he?"

"Oh, usually around this time, he'll be sniffing round the dustbins of Zugmann House. Look, what is-"

"Thanks!" He grinned again, clapped her heartily on the shoulders, and bounded off into the darkness before she could even finish speaking.

"-going on. Yeah, and nice to see you too, Doctor."

She was still shaking her head as she climbed back into bed again. "Some quiet night in," she muttered, pulling the duvet around her. "I just hope he doesn't want to get me involved..."

The hot chocolate was now not only cold, but congealing slightly at the top. She was just contemplating making another when...

Bang-bang, went the door. Bernice gritted her teeth and gave a little scream.

She gave another little scream at the sight on her doorstep this time.

"Bernice... help meeee!"

A tall, dark haired, muscular young man clutched at her from the threshold with one clawing hand, while the other hand clutched at his right thigh. His usually handsome features were contorted in a look of complete agony, eyes rolling wildly in their sockets.

"Wayne! What the hell..."

"Got... bit..." he gasped painfully, clutching harder at his thigh.

"Bit!" she yelped, peering a little closer. "By what?"

"Speelsnape... Bernice... help... you gotta... suck... the poison... out... or... I'm... a goner..."

She straightened up, her initial look of alarm fading into a tight-lipped expression of scorn.

"Speelsnape, huh? Well, I happen to know that speelsnapes don't bite, they suck. A bit like you, Wayne."

He blinked at her for a few seconds, then gave an agonised cry and fell on his back and started to roll around, still clutching at the wound. Bernice stared down at him dispassionately.

"Who taught you this performance? That trollop from the Theatrics Department I saw you with, I suppose."

Wayne bugged his eyes and gave a bloodcurdling gurgle. Green foam started to froth his mouth, then he went rigid and lay still with one last ghastly, rattling sigh, his eyes closing.

Shaking her head, Bernice bent down slightly and dabbed a finger at some of the foam dribbling down his chin. She sniffed it gingerly, then sighed.

"Toothpaste. Oh do stop it, Wayne. You look absurd."

He opened his eyes, propped himself up on one elbow, and frowned up at her, as if nothing had happened.

"Agrippina isn't a trollop. She's an artiste."

"Huh, I've heard it called that before. Okay, explain then why you had your hand up her dress. I know she looks like a dummy, but you're certainly no ventriloquist."

"Well, ahem... I was, um, helping her get into her part."

"Yeah, and I know which part you were helping her get to. Goodnight, Wayne."

"Bernice, c'mon, how many times do you want me to say I'm-"

The door closed before he could finish his sentence. Behind it, Bernice grinned despite herself.

"A few more times yet, dearie," she murmured cruelly, heading into the kitchen to make herself another hot chocolate.

She was half way through making it when, yes, the door was thumped on again. She contemplated ignoring it, but the hammering, like the communications unit, got more insistant.

"Oh, it's YOU. What - good grief, what happened?"

The Doctor stood before her again, only this time, a little worse for the wear. His clothing was torn, he had some rather nasty scratches down one cheek, and the first hints of a rather spectacular black eye. He also held up a rather bloodily lacerated hand.

"I think Wolsey has forgotton who I am," he said mournfully.

"Oh no... tell me, you didn't try approaching him from behind did you?"

"Well, um... yes."

"Oh Doctor, he HATES that! No wonder he clawed you... but I must admit, I've never seen him give anyone a shiner before!"

"Ah well, that was afterwards."

"Afterwards?"

"Yeah, afterwards. The little bru- I mean dear little chap scampered up the nearest tree. I climbed after him, but..."

"But?"

"I fell out. Have you got a ladder? Only, he's a bit high up now."

Bernice tried not to laugh, but it was hard.

"You big tough Time Lord, you. Come in, and I'll dig out my medikit, then I'll get me coat and we'll go coax him down. Honestly, Doctor, the scrapes you get into sometimes!"

"Yeah, well - ARGH!"

His sudden yelp made Bernice spin round from rummaging in her desk for her first aid kit. "What? WHAT!"

He was pointing a shaking finger towards something lying on the floor near the door.

"WHERE did you get that hat?"

"Some bloke who paid me a visit earlier. What-"

The Doctor seemed to forget about his cat-induced injuries. "Which way did he go?" he asked urgently.

"Out. That way. Somewhere. Doctor, what-"

"Stay here! LOCK THE DOOR!" he cried, and bounded off into the darkness again, slamming the door behind him.

Bernice stood blinking in his wake for a moment or two, then said softly, but with some feeling:

"Now THAT is the most sensible thing anyone has said to me all evening."

Within minutes, the door was locked, bolted AND had her armchair jammed against it, and Bernice was curled up back in bed again, book open by her side and a fresh cup of hot chocolate (with an extra large jolt of Napoleon brandy) steaming in her hand.

"I don't care WHO comes knocking, but I am NOT getting up again," she said determindly.

Her bedside light started to flicker. Cursing softly, she rolled over and started to fiddle with it. "What now?" she muttered crossly. The light sputtered and died, plunging the room into darkness...

And then the room lit up again. But not from her bedside light. This came from a completely different source...

A cold blue glow gradually filled the room, accompanied by a soft crackling sound, like static. Bernice rolled slowly over to stare at the apparition that had materialised at the end of her bed; it was a ghostly blue figure,  a young woman, dressed in flowing white robes, dark hair coiled in an elaborate style around her pretty face. It reached a hand out beseechingly towards Bernice.

"Help me, Bernice Summerfield!" the image whispered. "You're my only hope!"

Bernice hurled her book at it.