The first time Amy tried to change a typewriter ribbon, she ended up with ink all over her hands, splattered up her arms. For a moment, it was just ink, until she was furiously trying to scrub it off and the black stains in the mirror looked almost like hatchmarks, all too familiar.

Rory found her crying on the floor of their bathroom, the water still running, unable to pick out any single thing she was grieving enough to explain, but she didn't have to for him to know as he held her.