The Doctor's eyes lock on to his young partner's face for a moment. He's slow on the uptake sometimes. Can't always read subtleties and emotions the way humans would. It's why sometimes he may inadvertently come across as cold when he really doesn't mean to be. There's nothing subtle about this, though. No, this time he realizes what's happening to her is genuine and there's nothing to be done right now about it. They'll have to keep going.

"You're wrong, Henry," the Doctor quickly takes over. His voice is gentle, but very assured, almost calming. "Her story isn't over. Not the way you think. When we lose the ones we love, this moment right here, this is what we always want, isn't it? To speak with them, always, to say those last things we never got to say. You have that chance now to say it and you should. Don't lose it again."

And then, because he does genuinely care that they leave this man with some hope, he adds, "Her story won't be over after this, Henry. Not if you live your life the way she wants you to. She'll only be really gone if you carry on like you have been. The ones we love only ever really go away when we stop carrying them with us. And you did stop; for a long while, you stopped because it hurt too much. I understand that. But you have a chance now, a very good chance, to do something right."

He can say all this quite easily because it's how he lives. All the people he's traveled with, all the friends he's made all these years, his family, and he's never looked back; he couldn't, because it would have hurt too much, but he's always, always carried them all with him. They sleep inside his mind, safely tucked away. Everyone he's ever loved and lost.