Bill absolutely has to show Heather the glory of chunky cut chips again. Exactly like back home, with the crispy batter and the seasoning so great it could give pause to even the strongest of taste buds.

Finding such a place in the vastness of the universe proves to be a challenge. It's not until they make a rest stop at a space station called West Mall does Bill find the object of her cravings. It's after what seems like eons enclosed carefully in Heather's palm, where they showed each other the wonders of the universe on end and on end and on end.

It had looked so different through Heather's eyes. She'd seen…. too much, as the pilot, more than a human mind could comprehensively understand. The birth of stars, the death of planets, the ache of existence and eerie silence of reality. The Doctor made it seem so romantic, like an adventure, but Bill had felt Heather's sadness ache across their joined hands. Comforting her had seemed right, what Bill was supposed to do, since the touch at the puddle which changed her forever.

"Did it hurt?"

Over a rainbow nebula she'd finally managed to ask her, eyes glittering with a sense of purpose brighter than the new stars themselves. Heather had smiled sadly, like she had been waiting for Bill to ask.

"Did what hurt?" That is not Heather's voice - in fact, it's not even the nebula, or their joined hands anymore. It's a woman, the woman behind a shopfront counter, blinking at her like Bill had grown a second head.

"Oh," she bumbles, embarrassed. Lost in the moment. Staring at chips, which sit neatly presented in the woman's shopfront. She had been getting Heather the chips she promised her. "Sorry. A little too into these chips, keep thinking - uh, if…. You know. It had hurt. Maybe there's a race out there made of potato. Maybe we're eating them. And it… um…" The woman is staring, now more akin to Bill was one of her oldest friends, and she was telling a brand new story despite. "... hurt."

"If there is a potato race," she says, where at this point Bill notices she is human. Or, well, looks human. The most similar Bill had come across in her short time travelling with Heather so far. Fair white skin, brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, a tiny little button nose, a full set of white teeth smiling at her now. In another life, she would have made the cutest girlfriend, Bill has to muse as she stares back. "I have yet to come across it."

"Same. Of course. That's…. That's why I'm asking if it'd hurt. You know. The real questions. Always have to ask them."

The woman giggles now, dimples and all. Bill has to huff a laugh in complement. "If you do find this mystical planet, keep a mind to pass me the coordinates, yeah? We'd love to check out this potato race for ourselves."

"We?"

The shopfront is relatively empty. Figures, none of the aliens on this station knew the delicacy of human chunky cut chips. It's the shopkeeper, Bill at the counter, and Heather picking through a magazine at one of the tables. There's a few stragglers, not customers, weaved in and out of the chairs, keeping to themselves on this massive, massive space station.

"Oh, yeah. Me and Ashildr, we run this joint all by ourselves." the woman explains with a flap of her hand.

First name basis. This is good. Making friends is the wonderful part. "That's lovely," Bill breathes. "And you keep it running, too. You know, uh, Earth food? Isn't it? In with all these aliens."

She is regarded with a quizzical look, then returns that whimsical gaze, like Bill is something who has been wonderfully found after eons of being misplaced. The woman recovers quickly with a wink. "Special touch. A little bit of impossibility." Over the counter, the woman offers Bill her hand. "I'm Clara."

"Bill."

They shake. Bill finds herself feeling oddly satisfied about it.

"Lovely to meet you, Bill," says Clara. Then her eyes are wandering, leaning around her new friend to catch a glimpse of Heather. "And your… companion? She's with you, isn't she? I'd love to meet her."

"My… girlfriend. Actually." Bill turns as well to catch Heather's attention, and when she does, beckons her over. She seems shy about it, folding the magazine under her arm to saunter over to the counter with Clara. "Heather, meet Clara," Bill is quick to introduce as they interlock fingers, "Clara, meet Heather."

"A pleasure." Clara offers her hand to Heather also, who after a glance at Bill, takes it and shakes.

"Likewise," Heather replies.

Then Clara's posture changes, back to shopkeeper, who glances down at her treasured chips still steaming between them. "And you're both after the chips, obviously, I don't want to keep you talking too long. I'm pretty good at it, if you haven't noticed."

Bill clips a laugh. "No worries, mate, me too. Could talk your ear off if you're not careful."

Clara's nose shrivels as she giggles again. Bill feels Heather press closer to her side, so she squeezes her hand in assurance. Just friends . A human face in a galaxy full of aliens. Clara… actually seems to be thinking the same thing, as she presses forward again, obviously figuring out the words on her tongue, "I… actually wanted to ask. We don't get many… well… humans here. You're some of the first I've seen on the station."

"I'm not human." Heather sounds almost offended. "Neither is Bill."

Clara's face crumples a little. "Oh, I thought-"

"I mean," Bill interrupts, sparing her girlfriend an apologetic glance, "I technically… am human. I'm from Earth. As close to it as you get. Heather, too. We're just…. Travelling. At the moment. Not a human-y thing to do, that's for sure."

"Ah, right." Clara looks them up and down, obviously sizing. "I was just curious, that's all. It's good to see a familiar face." There's that stare again, like Clara has known her since before time began, and they're catching up over tea and scones for a new adventure.

Heather is staring back, head cocked slightly to side. "It really is," agrees Bill, squeezing her girlfriend's hand, another reassurance. A promise. Just talking, just a little bit of relief between all these stars that she is still what she wants to be. "And I definitely didn't think I'd see some good chips again unless I went back home."

"And that is definitely why we're here, Bill." Clara is very proud all of a sudden, enough to poke her head around to see into the back room, where the fabled Ashildr is hiding. "Want to meet the cook, as well? I suppose she's a little like you, all human-y, but travelling in style." Another wink, then she slides expertly from the counter to find her friend.

Heather implores Bill quickly at the pause, the two of them joining hands. "M'just talking, love. Just relieved to see another human face, that's all."

"I know," Heather smiles in return, actually smiles, giving their joined hands a gentle squeeze. There's more on the tip of her tongue, Bill can tell, where she bounces on her toes and inclines her chin just so. She does it when they touch down on a new planet and Bill's still smelling the flowers, grinning up at the beautiful colors of the sky - when she wants to explain the wonders of the universe from her own eyes.

"What's wrong," she implores softly, knowing, because while there's a special brand of wonderful for Earth chips, it's not enough for a colorfully beautiful explanation to flow from those soft lips.

Heather is hesitant, of course, only meeting her eyes once Bill inclines her chin to meet her. "You should know…." she starts slowly. "Your new friend, Clara, she has been touched by the stars the same way you have."

The short explanation washes over Bill for a second, so that she has to lean closer to clarify, "Wait, what do you mean? She's a traveller, yeah? Has to be, if she's human, running this chip joint so far from home."

"Not like a human," replies Heather, Bill's explanation from before to Clara. Ever the cryptic, but figuring out all the meaning between her silence and her breath, is what Bill oh-so-loves about her. What she loves about the universe: the unknown, how much there is left to understand. But there's no time to explain, because Clara returns with a skip in her step, and a hand in hers. Ashildr joins her at the counter, a hand shorter than her friend, but still tall enough to give Bill and Heather the biggest grin possible over a good hot batch of steaming chips.

"And this is Ashildr," introduces Clara, with a little hand gesture, like her friend is a treasure to be admired. Bill greets her with a warm smile in return. "Ashildr, Bill and Heather. Technically both human, so I'm told. Also chip enthusiasts."

"We definitely welcome chip enthusiasts," Ashildr agrees, still grinning. "Not if Clara doesn't actually serve you said chips, though, because she's still talking. Silly woman. Got to love her, though. And what a wonderful introduction: technically human. What's that supposed to mean?"

Bill actually falters, the smooth flow of words and air of arrogance, reminds her so much of the Doctor. All that's missing is that fluffy white hair. Ashildr might have been the real deal, otherwise. Or, perhaps Bill lets herself hope too much.

Heather answers for her, one eyebrow raised, "Whatever you would like it to mean."

Clara smirks. So does her counterpart. "Why don't we figure that out over some chips, then," Ashildr suggests, smooth as silk.

Then, there they sit, at a cafeteria in the middle of space on an alien space station, miles and miles from Earth. Bill holds Heather's hand. Clara holds Ashildr's hand. The chips are still steaming between them, a white bowl with sauce on the side, where Ashildr takes the responsibility of opening with a sideways glance at her… girlfriend? It's hard to tell.

The women were a mystery Bill was trying to figure out, put meaning to, like she knew Clara and Ashildr were trying to do to them. They do discover, though, they all like their chips the same way: their chip place is spectacular, Bill almost convinces herself she's back at home in their cafeteria with the Doctor and Nardole raving across the table from her.

God, she misses him already. But Heather's unwavering hand in hers is an anchor that files that ache in her chest, knowing she did the right thing, letting him own such the sacrifice he made. She just hopes, after all of it -

"Is he happy?"

Clara's words break the silence, once again, dragging Bill of her thoughts where she floats miles about the ground. She feels Heather's hand freeze in hers, and Ashildr also stops, holding her breath. Waiting. Clara eyes her so hard Bill is worried her eyeballs might pop out from their sockets.

"I… what?" she has to clarify first, for her brain to keep up - the leap they just made - from eating good old Earth chips to…. "You mean….?"

"You travelled with him, didn't you." It's not a question, Bill knows it isn't, because that stare is back. God, Clara misses him too, as much as Bill does.

Yet here she is, in the middle of space, running a chip joint miles from Earth selling such a classic Earth food. The comfort of chips and gravy on a cold day will perhaps, never be one Bill could quite shake. Clara misses it enough to make them eons from home. Perhaps, it was in the vague hope he should pass her shop one day, recognise the scent of such a homely food, and come wandering in asking after it. Or, maybe, it was her own home sickness: maybe Clara couldn't go home, maybe she was stuck out here. Perhaps, the Doctor had even left her here. Forgotten about her. It was obvious that idea was not mutual, because Clara was still staring at Bill like they were in front of a warm fire, with nothing but talk of their adventures filling the air.

"I did."

Clara seems to deflate at the table, shoulders drooping, and a long, tense breath leaves her lips. Bill wants to apologise for it, feeling like she'd confirmed this woman's worst nightmare, that the Doctor had moved on, had left her-

"And - is he happy?" Clara asks again, still slumped in her seat, but that fierce determination still burns behind her brown eyes. Bill squares off with her, sitting up straighter, and thinks of the Doctor -

The TARDIS, in all its glory, silver and glistening as it hurtles through space. Despite such a tempered pilot, god she was magnificent, smooth and elegant like a space ship should be. Blimey, it must be terrifying, cruising through the vacuum with nothing but the Doctor to keep her afloat.

Time, burning bright behind the Time Lord himself, as if he could command it with a ushering of his finger; a word from his lips. It is orange and yellow, then pink and purple, then green and blue - a rainbow of color, of people, of moments all selected to exist there and then. Meaningful, beautiful, wonderful, tragic time. Bill knows all too well its woes, how it can be both a friend and a foe. To the Doctor, it was neither - and travelling with him, Bill came to see it as he did - a companion.

Then space, the endless space which surrounds them, which pushes on the walls of the station and threatens to take from them all. It is absolutely terrifying, Bill remembers realising the third or fourth time the Doctor had flown them to watch a nebula, or a supernova, or a black hole (the Medsua Cascade, he called it this time, but she hadn't been listening - just staring). He'd been seated on the edge of the TARDIS, legs dangling off into space, and it's there she realised: beyond the thin walls of the TARDIS, the comforting presence of the Doctor, there was aboslutely nothing. Space went on without them, forever and ever and ever, reaching no end, not until the light and darkness both came to an end. They were alone out here, screaming to such an unforgiving void Bill could start to scream herself. And she had stayed there, paused at the TARDIS doors looking out on this supposed cascade, forgetting to breathe. The Doctor had bee there, of course, he was always there. He'd taken her hand, sat her down against the door, held her hand and spoken to her softly. Smiled gently, reassuringly. His words hadn't made sense at the time, of course, while Bill still came to terms with the emptiness which surrounded them out here, but she knew they had been kind.

He was very kind. He showed her the universe, after all, free of charge. Took her off in his magic box and to magical, far away places and ranted and raved like his life depended on it. He waved his hands about, that sometimes she did believe he was a magician, and that ridiculous screwdriver too. He saved people. He saved Bill, too, too many times to count, in that massive universe he'd shown her. Always made a point of explaining that it wasn't always kind, or good, or fair. It was just the universe, he was just the Doctor, she was just Bill Potts. And he always smiled while he explained, not the sort of trivial smile he gave to lost travellers, or judging smile he gave to those about to receive a full dose of his fury, but a kind one. A happy one, like he had a sense of purpose, explaining the ins and outs of this big bad universe Bill had been plopped into the middle of.

She knew he loved it. And looking on over Clara here now, another epitome of his happiness, Bill was nodding. How could she not? The Doctor was a traveller, an adventurer, a helper. The experience of the universe was his gift to give, it seemed, to companion after companion, and that built his happiness: to see the universe through somebody else's eyes. Explain it to them, yes, but watch it grow from beneath their fingers, watch the beauty they made out of it, the splashes of color they left on the canvas of time. Never forgotten, never ever forgotten - Bill could be certain of that.

"Yes," she finally got out, all choked up. Clara was too, as if she was experiencing the racing of Bill's thoughts right now, all at once through her head like that hurriane she couldn't quite seem to shake. God, she missed him so much. "He was happy. I made him happy. And he made me happy."

Clara clutched her hands to her chest. Bill could feel her relief, her own happiness at his knowledge, and her warmed her to know even now the Doctor was helping. From wherever he was, now, adrift in time and space…. forever.

Of course, how could she forget? The goodness of the universe, he'd lecture her about, all the wonders out there waiting to be found. The art, the nature, the people, the places. All of it, ever so wonderful - and he'd keep going with that massive grin on his face, lighting up the room they both sat in. That was what the Doctor left her to remember him by.

Then, that wonderful grin would start to fade slowly, as they both came down from the reaches of spaces where their thoughts drifted. Back down to Earth, she would say, and he'd scold her for being so narrow-minded. Then he'd, sigh, and say solemnly:

"Everything ends, Bill. That's the sad fact of beautiful things. They all end. Sometimes tragically, yes, but sometimes beautifully too. Take the death of a star, a supernova, the brightness unmatched by anything living thing. Still beautiful. The end can be beautiful, you should always remember that, but it doesn't always have to be sad. The end can mean…. change, movement, from point A to point B. Good change. Bad change. It still doesn't mean it's sad. Beautiful things coming to an end…. Yes, it can be sad but it doesn't have to be. Everything else in the universe is so sad, then we make the one definite thing at the end sad, too. Like we're addicted to it, being sad, that suddenly it's the default emotion just because things are ending. No, Bill, we should be happy that things end because we've finally reached where we're supposed to be, at the end. We did it, we made it here, and we should celebrate. Not be sad. Because everything does end, yes, sometimes too quickly or too slowly but it always comes to an end. Even beautiful things. So don't be sad, Bill, please promise me you won't be sad."

"I'm sorry," she chokes out, unsure if the breathed apology is to Clara or the Doctor now. She is sad, now, to be facing this woman and to bestow the knowledge she know Clara does not deserve to be kept from her.

Clara has tears shining in her eyes, but she leans forward, listening. Bill swallows thickly.

"He was happy, I promise, Clara. So happy," she cements first, words fluttering in her throat. "But it ended. Like everything does. He…. he…." Heather squeezes her hand, encouraging. "... He died, Clara. He ended, too." And oh, she tries so hard to remember those words he shared with her, but she misses him so much. Heather is wonderful, Bill loves her, but she knows a part of herself ended with the Doctor that day. The tear she left, a thought she would always spare for him, left adrift on his ship for the rest of his days. Until the end really did come.

"He died," Clara repeats, not quite as thickly as the glistening of her eyes. She shares a look with Ashildr, then presses again, "And did he change?"

Bill sniffles, meeting Clara's teary eyes with her own. "No, just... gone. There was a fight we didn't win, and he paid the price for it. I… died, too, but Heather saved me."

Now Ashildr smiles. "I thought I recognised that look in your eyes," she says to Heather with a certainty that sets more emotion in Bill's chest.

She does remind her so much of the Doctor, that eternal wisdom, the knowing look which sets her at ease - but at the moment only exists to set her off more. She did, she missed the Doctor, and knowing Clara did too was…. a lot to process. The knowledge there are others out there, like her, who have had their lives touched by the Doctor is even more.

"You know," Clara starts then, slowly and carefully. One of her hands creep across the table in offering to Bill, and she does not hesitate to take it. "that he isn't gone, don't you?" The same wisdom in Ashildr's eyes rings true in Clara's voice, and in her smile as Bill meets her eyes again. She gives her hand a squeeze. "He's a Time Lord. Not human, not like we used to be. He regenerates - doesn't truly die, just changes his face when that body passes on."

That gives Bill pause. Makes her replay the ending speech again in her head, complete with the solemn look on the Doctor's face, like he knows all too well of what he speaks. Of course, he would know too well about endings, if he has died before - to regenerate, to change.

"He's…. He's not dead?"

Clara smiles warmly. "No. Just changed." She squeezes Bill's hand again, determined to hold her gaze as she continues, "Regardless, that life he gave up to regenerate, he knows what he was doing when he sacrificed it to help you, to save you, to avenge you. Whichever it was, he means it. I know he would, especially if you made him happy."

And it's there Bill breaks down into sobs, in the middle of an alien cafeteria in the middle of space, eons from Earth. Eons from where she left the Doctor, not dead, floating in space to start his next life without her. Because of course the Doctor would understand endings weren't sad, just the start of a new story, not always sad - just different. Fresh. Beautiful, if they tried hard enough.

Heather holds her, of course, fingers carding through her hair as she works out these emotions. She sorts the Doctor's speeches carefully though her head as she discerns a new meaning from them all, making sure she fully understands: all his love to give, his adventures he shared with Bill, his life he gave for her - it was all because he understood the value of happiness, the value of life. And endings, he understood most of all what it was like to end, to change and move on.

Bill had to, as well. Clara had. As much as it obviously warmed her to hear about her friend, here she was with her girlfriend Ashildr, running a chip joint on an alien space station. Her ending, happy or sad, had been good. She had moved on.

She gathers herself with a final sniffle, rubbing at her puffy eyes. Clara is still sitting there when she raises her head from Heather's shoulder, but Ashildr has disappeared, as has the plate of finished chips. She smiles reassuringly, not even a slice of judgement shining in her big brown eyes.

"Okay?" she asks simply.

"Okay," confirms Bill with a smile of her own. "Sorry," she apologises next, after a deep breath, "it's…. just been so different. Travelling without him. Leaving him there. And what happened, it was…." Bill spares Heather another glance, warm and comforting beside her, the girl she never deserved to meet. Too good, too wonderful. Oh, how she loves her. "... a lot. But I'm here now, the Doctor is there. We've ended. And…. that's okay."

Pride shines in Clara's eyes. "It is okay," she confirms. "Because you'll see him again, one day, of course. It'll be the last thing on your mind - then that stupid man will wander back into your life, say hello, and it'll be wonderful. Moving on always is. But seeing where you came from can be wonderful, too. I trust it'll be wonderful for you too."

Clara is talking about her , Bill realises. A companion of the Doctor too. And she'd just wanted him to be happy, nothing else. Bill aches at all of this, she really does. She is sure Clara ached the same way when they parted ways, however sad.

"I hope so," breathes Bill.

That smile doesn't leave. They're sitting opposite each other, a fireplace popping next to them. The Doctor paces between them, ranting and raving, about an adventure on an unnamed planet with an unnamed beauty they had yet to discover for themselves.

"So thank you," Clara continues, as the fire dies down, the Doctor fades off into the dark, "for giving me that. It meant a lot to see another human face here, yes, but knowing where you came from is so, so special. And I will treasure it, believe me. So will Ashildr. You have…. touched us in a way we will not forget. It is just simply good to hear about him again, that you've made him happy."

"I'd do it again," Bill affirms, stronger now, giving Heather's hand a firm squeeze. "To anyone who needs it. They deserve to know. However many lives he's touched. That he's happy and…. Safe. Alive. Changing. And not sad."

"Never sad," agrees Clara, settling it between them with an air of relief that leaves Bill in a slow exhale. She deflates against Heather's side, content, exhausted, ready for a nap in front of a real fire.

They part with a hug and a large offering of chips for the road, and Clara's home address, should they ever need it. It's on a psychic piece of paper, Heather points out with a frown, and Ashildr does that Doctor-branded smirk, salutes them, and disappears back into the kitchenette of the diner.

"Good travels," Clara wishes them, with their hands clasped together. She gives them a final squeeze, then lets go.

"Beautiful travels," Bill affirms.

Clara is smiling, as they turn to leave, as they disappear off into the stars again, as she falls asleep curled up against Ashildr that night, and for the days after that. The chip joint stays for a few months longer, the locals note, then disappears one night after the security guard held excited yelling from within - something about the Medsua Cascade, and going to help an old friend.

They were never heard from again, those two women who ran the chip place - nor was the second TARDIS that left the Doctor collapsed in the slow, a silent departure for the beautiful end of their friend, so that he never had to be truly alone.

Goodnight, my clever boy.

It whispered into the silence, so that he did it alone still, screaming into the snowflakes which filtered from the clouds. But never truly alone, Ashildr made sure to remind her, as she took at last good look at that wonderful face. She let her eyes fall closed as they disappeared - and across the way, Bill Potts did the same, letting go of his hand as he slipped off into the dark.

Remember us.