While he talks Amy gets altogether serious, listening to him with her brow beetled and her chin propped up in her hand. The way his story starts off isn't so different from stories she's heard before; stories for the Doctor, places where he's needed.

Only this isn't one of those stories.

"I'm sorry," she says, honestly sympathetic.

He looks embarrassed about it, but she smiles a bit for him when he talks about his telescope, and waves off the apology.

"Don't worry, I've got my share of experience with selfish fools and you don't even rank," she says, trying to keep it light.

She does miss her husband, but she knows he left to tell the Doctor what had happened. They'll be coming for her. She just has to believe that.

"When I was a little girl, both my parents disappeared," she shares, folding her arms across the table like she's almost hugging herself; "I went to live with my aunt. I used to talk to Santa out my bedroom window, askin' him if he could bring them home."

She laughs a little.

"It's a bit silly in comparison, I suppose."