In truth, he had no idea what to do with the information, but it could be written down, recorded. He had a tendency to do that, and he could see patterns on the pages once he had enough information- not literal patterns, of course, but the way the information tied together. He would need to do that again here, it seemed.
"Write it down," he told her when she told him she would not know what to do with the information. "I suspect we are not the only ones, or more people would leave more frequently. We may be able to contribute yet."
He held her to him then, to comfort her as much as himself that she was indeed real and here. "We will find our way home," he said softly.