[she isn't feeling frightened or bewildered, just... horribly lost, and helpless, and devastated-in-advance, and isolated in her own way as well. If Rory feels isolated out of fear that properly grieving for their baby will alienate her, then Amy feels isolated out of a faint fear that he won't think she's allowed to grieve too, because she hasn't lived it yet. She knows that she, herself, in this moment, hasn't got anything really comparable to what Rory's gone through. She hadn't remembered him after his death, after all, and therefore never properly mourned him. All she has are moments during their travels with the Doctor when they became separated, for whatever reason--like during their run from the Silence in 1969 America. They had agreed to split up, of course; it was part of the Doctor's long plan. But that had still done nothing to ease the very real fear and uncertainty that dogged them during those three months, or help how lonely she had been after leaving Rory to strike off on her own.
Remembering those times--they can't possibly hold a candle to his.
So she struggles to take in another steady breath and doesn't ease her hold on him, not one inch, because he's her stupid face husband and she loves him and she's going to do her level best to support him, as well as she knows how]
no subject
Remembering those times--they can't possibly hold a candle to his.
So she struggles to take in another steady breath and doesn't ease her hold on him, not one inch, because he's her stupid face husband and she loves him and she's going to do her level best to support him, as well as she knows how]