A/N: Told as if a psychologist specialising in bereavement is asking the Ponds how they feel about everything. First person POV, follows original ending.

I hear a knock at my door and arrange my face to show its usual professional smile. From their personal data I felt they would be interesting people to work with in the remains of my office. It's a shame how the world doesn't wait for you to mourn. "Come in," I say as clearly and pleasantly as I can, bringing some smile into my eyes as the tall redhead and her devoted husband step quietly through the door. The observation begins. Amy (Amelia, or just Amy?) smoothes out invisible creases in her leather miniskirt and sits, nodding at her somewhat nervous husband (ah, that would be Rory) to sit too. Well, I definitely know who wears the proverbial pants in that relationship already. "I'm Doctor Yena Song, you must be Amy and Rory Williams," I begin plainly, shaking both of their hands and taking mental note of the flinch they shared when I said 'Doctor'. I'd read the file that reception gave me this morning; it was quite the loss the couple had suffered. I remember the Doctor and Clara dimly from the news reports and various magazine articles, speaking of two lovers dying together, blah blah blah, blah blah blah. The young foreigners (original home yet undetermined, and I doubted they would ever try to) had managed to crash the CyberDalek ship with the supernova on it, draining the main army power source. The riots continued for days until they simply died. Like an old laptop battery. The battle was still terrible, and our world suffered great losses. Now we live in the remains of what was, putting the pieces back together like our very own Humpty Dumpty. "How are you feeling right now?" I ask them, and they smile tensely at each other. Rory is the first to reply. Almost too quick.

"Oh, well I'm fine, it's just... Amy dragged me along, and-"

"Just shut up, macho man," Amy cuts him off. I fight the urge to snigger. I have missed having snarky patients. "We both came here because we know that we're having trouble coping with the deaths of Clara and our Doctor."

A textbook response. She must be a writer of some sort, definitely straightforward enough to be a journalist. That would also explain the faint ink stains on her chipped red nail varnish. I smile again to bring back some ease to the environment.

"And how does that make you feel, not being able to cope with their deaths?"

She responds first. "Well we are coping, maybe just not to the best of our abilities. It's just... really... Oh gosh, I hate to sound cliché, but it's just really difficult to deal with," she tells me, eye contact still unwavering through her uncertainty. She's afraid of cliches? Definitely a writer. I scribble that down on my notepad. Rory grasps her hand tightly, but I can see it's more for his own comfort than hers as she runs her thumb over the tops of his fingers. "We've been friends with the Doctor for over ten years, even after we moved to America. He was waiting with Clara, his wife, just after we got back. He crashed his... er, transport in front of our house. It's really complicated," he added with slightly more confidence than before. Maybe that was down to how tightly he was squeezing poor Amy's knuckles. I found myself waiting for her joints to pop as I nod vaguely, and ask them again, "Do you feel like it's more complicated than it should be?" They both nod, but say nothing. I exhale slightly louder than I should.

"Well, you obviously aren't doing as well as you could be, but you're not entirely willing to open up to me yet. I suppose nothing can be done about that. Take your time."

"Oh - no... It's just that we're not sure how to answer you best, I mean we don't do this a lot, do we Rory?" the redhead stammers, nudging him hard. He nods enthusiastically. I smile knowingly and shake my head slightly, eyes closing with nostalgia of other patients. "That's not what I meant," I added gently. "I've asked you three times about your feelings, and you've consistently evaded talking about them. You've literally told me everything except what you're feeling."

They remain silent, but I allow them the time to think as I rearrange my files that don't need rearranging and take a sip from my citron tea so they don't feel like all the attention is on them. "W-well..." Rory begins, and I immediately latch onto his sentiment, nodding to encourage him to continue. "Like I said, the Doctor and I go way back to when I was still a nurse. So if we're being completely honest, I'm shattered. I'm trying so hard to stay strong for Amy, but dammit - she's a better husband than I am. If that makes sense."

He exhales heavily like he's just finished an oral presentation in front of a judgmental secondary school class. "No offense, Amy," he says quickly. It's almost like he's afraid of her; truly amusing to watch the two. "And you?" I ask the stiff-postured woman, who shifts ever so slightly in the black leather armchair that's clearly too soft for her liking. "I'm crap, actually," she says, and I am pleased with her honesty. I don't have to ask her to continue.

"I've known the Doctor since I was a five-year-old little girl. He told me that he'd go fix his toy car at playtime once, and that he would come back for me. Then he left the school and I only ran into him ten years later when he accidentally broke into my house looking for me. The Doctor always hated goodbyes. When he left again, Rory proposed, and the Doctor only returned the night before our wedding was meant to be anulled. I think he saved our marriage too. As for Clara - she was a beautiful woman, truly. Everything the Doctor deserved, she was. And he was everything she deserved. And I really freaking missing them."

I finalise my notes and shut the notepad with a flourish, before standing with a genuine smile on my face.

"That's all we have time for today."