"Sorry Bill. I can't give you your job back."

Bill jammed her fists in the pockets of her skinny jeans, and stared in frustration at her boss. Or rather, her former boss.

"C'mon, Stu. I only missed a few shifts."

"Three weeks, Bill! You missed three weeks' worth of shifts. No word from you – nothing. I tried calling your house. Your mum had no idea where you were." Stu ripped open a bag of lettuce and tipped it into the metal container. "Now you turn up here, without any explanation at all, expecting your job to be waiting for you."

"Yeah, I know. And I'm sorry, ok? I just had some… stuff that I needed to deal with." Like hanging out for ten years down the backside of a spaceship, getting turned into a stompy tin man, and travelling around the universe with my ex-girlfriend who happens to be an alien. Oh, and saying goodbye to my best friend. Who also happens to be an alien.

Stu started dicing onions in a manner that reminded Bill uncomfortably of the Cyberman conversion process. The smell of grease and charred burger patties wafted through the kitchen. In the background came the sounds of the students lining up in the cafeteria, chatting and laughing, ready for their lunch.

"That's not good enough, Bill. I need someone I can rely on. And besides, we've given your job to Nigel."

From the chip station, Nigel grinned, revealing a mouth full of braces, and waved at her nervously. Bill raised her hand unenthusiastically in response.

"I'm sorry, Bill. You need to leave now. You don't work here anymore."

Bill left, trudging glumly along the corridors of St Luke's University. Now what was she going to do?

Heather had turned out to be as shallow as the puddle from which she'd emerged. Six weeks of 'showing each other the universe' and she'd ditched Bill for some green-skinned alien from the planet Vertalia. "Sorry Bill, but it's just not working between us." Yeah, right. She'd turned Bill back into a human, and dropped her back on Earth (acting like it was some kind of big favour!). Bill had discovered that only three weeks had passed on Earth since the Doctor had talked her into taking that final trip with Missy, Nardole, and himself. Her foster mother, Moira, had barely noticed she'd been gone ("Were you binge-watching 'Game of Thrones' with Shireen again?") But her absence had not escaped Stu's attention. Now here she was, broke and jobless.

Bill stopped to check a bulletin board. It was covered with papers: ads for second hand textbooks, flyers for the university frisbee club, a poster for a missing dog. No jobs though. She sighed and moved on… stopping suddenly when she realized she was outside the Doctor's old office. She held her breath and tried the door.

Incredibly, it was unlocked. She stepped inside, remembering all the times she'd entered. Those mad tutorials. The Doctor, striding about. Tossing books at her. Strumming on his guitar. Nardole fussing over them both with cups of tea.

They'd cleared everything out. All that remained was the solid mahogany desk. She wondered what had happened to his things: his feathered pens, his paintings, his globes and funny knick-knacks. In the corner of the room, stood the imprint of where the Tardis had been. A perfect square in the dust.

Bill realized there were tears in her eyes. It had been so wonderful. Mostly. Some times had been downright bloody scary. But god, she missed the Doctor so much. He was alive – she knew it; could feel it – but he wasn't coming back to St Luke's. There was nothing left for her here.

She left the university, walking aimlessly for several blocks until she came to a side street. Tucked between two buildings (which appeared to house a watchmaker and a dry cleaners, respectively) was an American style diner. And there was a sign in the window. Help Wanted.

Bill paused. "Why not?" she muttered, and pushed the door open. Her eyebrows shot to her hairline.

"Woah, get a load of this place!"

The diner was decked out to the nines. Red leather booths, black and white floor tiles, a picture of Elvis covering a door down the back, and – rather incongruously – a butterfly net in the corner.

"Can I help you?" a rather bossy voice said.

Bill turned. There, behind the counter, stood a young woman. Bill's stomach flipped. She was kind of cute. Face a bit wide, but amazing brown eyes, and a pert nose. A waitress, no doubt.

"Oh. Hi. Saw the job in the window. Is there a manager here I can speak with?"

"I am the manager," said the young woman, briskly.

"Um, right. I guess I expected someone…" Bill wasn't quite sure how to end that sentence, and the young woman now had one eyebrow raised. "…taller?" Bill finished, hopefully.

Now the woman – who was at least half a head shorter than Bill – raised both eyebrows. "I didn't realise there was a height requirement to run a restaurant."

Bill felt herself blushing. "Right. Sorry."

"Let's get to business, shall we? I'm looking for a kitchenhand. Someone to make coffee, flip burgers, fry eggs, cook chips-"

"I can do that!" interrupted Bill. "I cooked chips loads of times back at St Luke's, and everyone loved them. I am literally the Chip Queen." In fact, she had once been crowned Chip Queen, when the Doctor had taken her to that planet with the hungry, potato loving aliens. But obviously she couldn't say that. Not without sounding insane.

"Um, great," said the young woman. "It's shiftwork, which includes evenings and weekends. There might also be some waitressing duties, and at the end of each shift, I'll expect you to clean the-"

"Is this a pop-up?" asked Bill, as the question suddenly occurred to her.

"Pardon me?"

"It's just that… I've never seen this diner here before. It's almost like it sprang up overnight."

The young woman paused. "I suppose in a way it did," she said. "And I'm stuck… that is… I'm going to be here for the indefinite future, and I need someone to help me out. So, can I take it you're interested?"

"Yeah!" said Bill. The job actually sounded like a drag, but hey, at least it was money and she had to start somewhere.

The young woman tucked a lock of brown hair behind her ear, and pulled a notepad and pen towards her. "Take a seat," she said, pointing at one of the red stools lined up along the counter. "I'll get some details. "What's your name?"

"Bill. Bill Potts."

The young woman wrote it down. "Bill… Potts… You can call me Ozzy."

Bill snorted, before she could stop herself. "What kind of a name is Ozzy? You don't sound Australian."

Ozzy looked up and gave her a death glare that instantly quelled Bill's amusement. "I'm not. I'm from Blackpool originally. Ozzy is… let's just say it's based on my last name, and it's what you will be calling me."

Bill nodded feebly, not sure what to say.

"Address? Date of birth? National Insurance number?"

Bill told her.

"Now, as to salary, I'm offering eight pounds fifty an hour. No penalty rates, I'm afraid. And this is casual work, so no benefits. Apart from working with me, of course."

Gee, thought Bill. Not only was this woman bossy, but she also had an ego on her the size of the planet Hugiferous (which, she recalled the Doctor telling her, was five thousand times the size of Jupiter). Should she accept this job? Then something else occurred to her.

"Do you always keep a butterfly net in here?"

Ozzy put down her pen and gazed at Bill steadily. "Do you always blurt out questions at random?"

"Um. Sometimes," admitted Bill.

Ozzy leaned forward. "I need someone who'll work hard, and focus on the job. Are you capable of that?"

"Yeah," said Bill, feeling rather cowed.

"You mentioned working at St Luke's. Why did you leave?"

Uh oh. "I was fired."

"Oh. Why was that?"

Bill traced the stool's rung with the toe of her sneaker. "I missed a few shifts, cos I was travelling. Took me a bit longer than expected to get back home."

Ozzy drew back. "Yeah. I would have probably fired you too. I need someone who's reliable and responsible. Perhaps you don't fit the bill. No pun intended."

Bill suddenly felt angry. Who did this girl think she was? This stupid, jumped-up manager judging Bill like this? She had no idea of what Bill had been through! Had Ozzy ever faced danger? Had Ozzy ever been trapped? Had Ozzy ever seen people die in front of her? Had Ozzy ever dealt with someone as dangerously loopy as Missy? Had Ozzy ever had her heart broken at saying goodbye to a beloved best friend, like the Doctor?

Bill jumped down from the stool, her temper rising.

"You know what? Stick your job. You've got no idea who I am, or what my circumstances are. Yeah, I went travelling and missed some work. But I don't bloody regret it for a moment. The things I saw, and the things I did… they were amazing. And now, I'm back here, and I'm trying to make the best of it. I'm trying to live normally again, just like every human being out there."

At this, a strange look came over Ozzy's face.

"And the friends I was travelling with," continued Bill, "They're gone, and I'll probably never see them again. And I miss them so much." Especially the Doctor, she thought. "And I'm trying to live with that."

Ozzy kept looking at her with that same, strange expression.

"I am hard-working, and I am reliable. And my travelling days are done. Not that you probably care."

With that, Bill headed for the door, but Ozzy's voice stopped her.

"Nine o'clock."

Bill turned. "What?"

"Nine o'clock, tomorrow morning. That's when you start your first shift." For the first time, Ozzy smiled. To Bill's astonishment, it was a lively, and rather lovely, smile. As she was marveling at it, Ozzy added "Don't be late."

Don't be late. Bill glowered as she walked home through the Bristol streets. She'd scored the job, but she suspected working with Ozzy would be bloody irritating. But the memory of Ozzy's deep brown eyes, and that smile came back her. Irritating perhaps… but interesting. Very interesting.