As the Doctor stood on the wrong side of the door listening to Amy's sobs, he faced a dilemma. Should he go in and comfort his friend, or should he leave her alone. He knew very little about women, and much less about crying women.
'What do you even think would happen?' The little voices in his head taunted. 'Would she suddenly cheer up? Would she come out and have fun?'
"Probably not." The Doctor admitted.
'It's more than that though, isn't it?' The voices continued. 'You want her to stop moping about over Rory, and fall in love with you, don't you?'
"No." The Doctor denied, a little too loudly. He smacked his forehead to stop the voices.
'It would never happen anyway...'
A memory replayed in the Doctors mind: when Amy had first remembered Rory. He remembered her lips soft and demanding against his, the way she threw herself at him in her grief. The way he enjoyed it, even though he tried not to.
"No." He said again, more softly. He couldn't risk it, he decided. He wouldn't go back in her room and try to comfort her.
"I'm setting an example." He said to himself. "If I go outside, she'll follow. Maybe." His confidence wavered, and he eyed up the door again. A vision entered his head, of what would happen if he entered the room; he imagined them kissing, his hands in her hair, her hands beneath his tweed jacket.
"No!" He cried again, slapping his forehead again. He had to stop thinking like this. It wasn't on. It wasn't appropriate.
He forced himself away from the door, and walked down the corridor to the lifts. He concentrated on the afternoon ahead of him, the planet that needed exploring.