She told the Doctor, mostly. Told her story just as he told his, and he seemed to understand. Seemed to know, with a wisdom she always underestimated in him. A thousand years of life, a hundred companions and friends, people who loved him and loved others. He seemed to respect her even more for it, if that was possible, didn't judge her, silently encouraged her. Took it in the same stride he took everything else about her, as though she could do no wrong.
She appreciated him more than she'd ever tell him.
They traveled. He took her gentle places at first, and when he realized it was the running that freed her, if only temporarily, he took her to planets that needed saving. What frightened her, though, was the fact that she wasn't doing it to save them. Not now.
They didn't stop to examine their relationship, just as they never had. She didn't ask, he didn't offer. They picked back up as though she'd never even been gone, with grins and tea and understanding, and they just... worked. Together, as mates, and nothing more. He would probably be accepting, if she made any move to advance things, but she never did, and he didn't mind. Asexual, and an alien.
Now, though, was one of those down-times in between planetary distraction. He was working beneath the console, and she was sitting, quietly. Watching. Not thinking, just... sitting, listening to the TARDIS sing in her mind, and just... breathing.