"Ozzy? Kitchen's clean. I'm going to head off now, if that's ok."

A pause from behind the closed back door, then: "Yep."

Bill sighed. For the past few days, following the incident in the laneway, the atmosphere had been frostier than the inside of the diner's freezer. She wiped her hands with the tea towel, using her foot to gently nudge away Missy, who had been worrying her shoelaces. Really, she had no idea why Ozzy had chosen to call the dog 'Missy' (of all names!). Bill had no desire to be constantly reminded of the loony, sociopathic Time Lady, whose previous incarnation had gotten Bill turned into a walking tin can. Although after a while, she'd come to be faintly amused at the notion of a tottering, ancient pet named after Missy. No doubt Ozzy had simply chosen it because it was a cute name for a fluffy little dog.

Bill strolled through the streets, enjoying the warm evening. Once home, she would take a shower. See what was on the telly. Maybe call Shireen and see if she wanted to grab a drink. Wait! Her phone! Bill patted her pockets. Damn. She'd been distracted by Missy, and left it behind on the counter at the diner.

She headed back to the diner. The lights were off; the place was in darkness. Perhaps Ozzy was out? However, when she tried the door, it opened. She snapped on the lights. There was her phone on the counter… and down the other end sat Ozzy. Slumped in a stool. Crying.

"Ozzy? Oh my god. What's wrong?"

As Bill's eyes took in the scene, she realized that Ozzy was covered with soot. Wrapped tightly around her fist was Missy's empty leash.

Ozzy looked up, hastily brushing her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Left my phone," said Bill quickly. She didn't want Ozzy yelling at her again. "What's happened? Where's Missy?"

A tear trickled down Ozzy's cheek, leaving a clean track in the grime. "She's gone. And it's all my fault."

"Gone? You mean…?"

Ozzy nodded tersely, then buried her head in her hands, body shuddering.

Bill froze, horrified and hesitant, not knowing what to do. Should she comfort Ozzy? Give her a hug? She settled for patting Ozzy awkwardly on the shoulder.

"Well, she was old," she said, trying to cheer Ozzy up. "On her last legs. It was going to happen sooner rather than later."

Ozzy looked up, sniffling. "Oh, you don't get it, Bill. Missy was my responsibility, but I put her in danger. I didn't look after her properly." She added softly, "I had a duty of care."

Bill then noticed on the counter the water pistol, half melted. What the hell had happened? She'd assumed Missy had carked it due to old age. Perhaps not.

"And now Missy's dead, and I'm bloody torn up about it," Ozzy continued, before adding rather oddly: "Wow. Never thought I'd be saying those words."

"If you'd just tell me what's going on," said Bill. "Maybe I could help."

Ozzy wiped her eyes. She looked at Bill squarely, for the first time in days.

"I know I've been hard on you."

Bill blinked. This was unexpected.

"You're a good worker, Bill. Great at making chips."

"Er, thanks," said Bill, after a pause.

"And you're a good person too. Smart. Persistent. Optimistic."

Ozzy praising her? Now this was getting scary.

"I've been a bit distracted lately," Ozzy continued. "Personal stuff. Nothing to do with you. But that's no excuse for being short."

"Come and have a drink with me!" The words were out of Bill's mouth before she realised she'd spoken them.

"What?"

"A drink. You and me. What do you say? We've never hung out before, besides work."

A smile crept over Ozzy's face. "Yeah. You know what? That'd be nice."

"Great!" said Bill, suddenly feeling stupidly pleased. "The Liftoff Bar near the uni. Three blocks down. How does that sound?"

Ozzy's smile broadened. She looked down at her soot-stained clothes. "Yeah, great. I'll need to get changed though."

A mental image of Ozzy undressing flashed through Bill's head. "Yeah, I'll need to go home and take a cold shower." Ozzy raised an eyebrow. "Um… I mean a shower." Bill felt herself blushing. "Meet you there in an hour, yeah?"

Fifty-nine minutes later, Bill was waiting anxiously at the bar. The Liftoff was a retro joint that prided itself on playing punk and new wave songs from the Seventies and Eighties. The Clash. Joy Division. Iggy Pop. It was here that she'd met Heather. Less than a year ago (in Earth time), but it felt like a lifetime.

Perhaps she should have chosen a different place. Too many memories. Too many students. What if Ozzy thought it was naff? What if Ozzy didn't even show?

But the door opened, and there was Ozzy – just as 'Head over Heels' by Tears for Fears began to play. Bill's heart lurched. Ozzy looked bloody amazing. She wore this dark red dress that accentuated the curve of her hips, and a leather jacket that looked both trendy and expensive. Bill instantly felt underdressed. She'd just chucked on her jeans (casually ripped at the knee), a comfy old t-shirt, and a bomber jacket. Ozzy hadn't noticed her yet, and for an instant, she felt like fleeing. Then she heard the Doctor's voice in her head.

Come on, Bill Potts, where's that spirit? She's only human, like you!

Yeah. Thanks, Doctor.

Bill drew a deep breath, and made her way over to Ozzy.

"Oh, hi," said Ozzy. There were no traces of her earlier tears, and her face was artfully made-up. "I like your jacket."

"Thanks," said Bill. "Um, yours too."

"Well," said Ozzy, after a pause, "Shall we get a drink?"

They made their way over to the bar. "Lager, please," Bill told the barman, and turned to Ozzy. "What'll you have? My shout."

"Thanks," said Ozzy. "Red wine would be nice. Cab Sav if they have any."

Of course. Trust Ozzy to drink something fancy. Bill immediately regretted ordering a lager. How unsophisticated Ozzy must find her!

They took their drinks and found a little table in the corner.

"Cheers," said Bill.

"What are we drinking to?"

Bill shrugged. "Missy? The dog."

"To Missy." They chinked glasses.

There was an awkward silence while they sipped at their drinks. Think of something to say, Bill thought. Anything. Quick!

"So I met my ex-girlfriend in this bar, right over there," blurted Bill. Oh brilliant. Now she was banging on about her former dates. Great way to bore Ozzy stiff.

But Ozzy didn't seem to mind. "Ex, hey? What happened?"

She was possessed by a sentient puddle, tracked me across the universe, converted me back from a cyberman to a human, promised to show me around all time and space, then ditched me for another alien.

"She ditched me."

Ozzy shrugged. "Her loss."

"What about you?" asked Bill, feeling bold. "You mentioned someone called Jane. What was she like?"

Ozzy's eyes sparkled. "Amazing. Loved playing pranks. But I always got her back."

Ten minutes later, both Bill and Ozzy were crying with laughter into their drinks. "... put the salt in the sugar bowl," Ozzy was saying. "I put three teaspoons in my tea, and it tasted revolting! I had to swallow and pretend it was lovely. Right in front of Jane's neighbours and great-aunt and the Reverend. After that little joke, I got revenge by hiding her favourite bonnet."

Bill stopped laughing. "Bonnet?"

"She had old-fashioned tastes," explained Ozzy, quickly.

"So what happened with you and Jane?" asked Bill. Despite the fact that Ozzy referred to Jane in the past tense, Bill couldn't help but feel slightly jealous.

"Guess you could say we had a long distance relationship," said Ozzy. "Not really sustainable in the end. Besides, Jane was destined for other things. She had… literary ambitions."

"Has there been anyone else since?"

"There was Ashildr. We travelled together for a bit."

Bill frowned, trying to place the name. "Is that Pakistani?"

"Old Norse."

Weird. "Okay."

"But Ashildr was really just a companion. We weren't together. Anyway, she did a lot of work with, um, refugees. And in the end, she decided to go back to it. She moved to London to help set up a new camp."

"So it's just you then. On your own."

"Yep," said Ozzy softly. "Been on my own for a while now."

"But you must have friends. Family. You mentioned your dad…" It seemed inconceivable to Bill that someone as attractive and dynamic as Ozzy should ever be alone.

Ozzy shrugged. "I keep a pretty low profile these days."

Bill suddenly felt unaccountably sorry for her. "Listen, Ozzy…"

Ozzy took a slug of her wine and sighed. "You know that's just a nickname, right?"

"What is your real name?" Bill asked. She held her breath, hoping Ozzy would tell her.

The other woman hesitated. "Clara," she finally said. "My name is Clara Oswald."

"Clara? But that's a beautiful name!" exclaimed Bill. "Why don't you like using it?"

Ozzy – or rather Clara – took another gulp of wine. "You're pushing it tonight, Bill." She did not, however, seem annoyed.

"Fine. You don't have to answer that."

But whether it was from the wine, or Missy's death, Ozzy's mood had softened. "As I said, I prefer to keep a low profile. But also – I had this friend, right?" She shook her head. "No. 'Friend' doesn't cut it. He was so much more than that. He was the most important person in my life. I wanted to stay with him forever."

Bill was confused. "But I thought… you were like me. You know. Fancied girls."

Ozzy smiled sadly. "Yeah, I loved him. But there are different types of love. You know when you meet that person? And everything seems new and exciting and magical and funny and dangerous, all at the same time. That's how it felt with him."

"Yeah, I reckon I know what you mean," said Bill, thinking of the Doctor. She wondered who Ozzy's 'friend' had been. Whoever it was, she bet he couldn't hold a candle to the Doctor, despite whatever Ozzy said.

Ozzy continued. "So this man. He liked to use my name a lot. 'Clara, Clara, Clara' he'd say. I suppose hearing my name – my real name – reminds me of him." She toyed with the stem of her glass. "And it hurts."

"So what happened to him?" asked Bill.

In the background, a new song started. 'Don't You Forget About Me', by the Simple Minds.

Ozzy's eyes were very deep, and chocolate brown. "I had to leave him behind."

"Yeah," breathed Bill. "I totally get that."

They were silent for a moment, gazing into each other's eyes. Then Ozzy abruptly stood up.

"Looks like we've finished our drinks. Want another one? My turn this time."

"Yeah, thanks," said Bill. She was discovering so many things about Ozzy. Part of her never wanted the evening to end. She watched Ozzy stroll to the bar, and give an order to the barman. Then Bill frowned. Ozzy had pulled from her jacket that strange device which looked like a remote control. She examined it for a second, then put it back in her pocket.

Hmm. It seemed there was still a lot more to find out about Ozzy.

Ozzy returned to the table, this time holding two lagers. "There we go. I thought I'd attempt a beer this time."

"Bold move," said Bill. God, she sounded pretty flirty! But right now, but she didn't care. She took a swig.

"I've been known to make a few in my time," said Ozzy, raising an eyebrow. "So – what are we drinking to this time?"

Bill shrugged. "Friendship?"

"Fun?" suggested Ozzy.

"The diner."

"Chips."

They both laughed.

"Glad you dragged me out for a drink," said Ozzy, smiling gently at Bill. "I'm having a really good time."

Bill leant forward and mashed her lips against Ozzy's.

She felt the moisture of Ozzy's lips against her own dry ones, tasted her strawberry lip gloss, felt Ozzy's mouth open under hers (with shock, or desire, Bill wasn't sure), and her heart was hammering and the room spun around them and then...

And then Ozzy pulled away, scrambling to her feet, chair clattering.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," said Bill. God, what had she done?

"I have to go," said Ozzy. She backed away from the table, hands in her jacket pockets. "I have to go," she repeated. She turned, and rushed out of the bar.

Bill stared at the door. After a moment, she picked up her lager and downed it in one go. Then, for good measure, she picked up Ozzy's drink and guzzled that too. Finally, she slumped back in her seat, feeling properly sloshed, feeling the sting of mingled stupidity and rejection.

A new song started to play. A familiar beat that she'd recognised from her mum's old records. 'Don't You Want Me, Baby?' by the Human League. Brilliant. How fitting.