Evey's story didn't make sense, but it was in the same way that their arrivals in the apocalyptic world hadn't made sense. He didn't discount her words as delusions or fantasy, or even as mad babbling - despite the babbling she was currently doing.
And the island that she spoke of, it was still there. Still attached to the City. They could go to it, see it. He could see where she'd lived. He could know some of what she and whomever else the TARDIS had taken had been through. Somewhat, anyway. Not as wholly as they had, because he would still be able to cross the bridge and come back.
"I know." He assured her. "Evey, I know."
She would have left him no more than he would have left her. They had been devoted to keeping one another safe even beyond their urges toward self preservation. He had fought a pack of wild dogs for her, and she had fed him. They had done many stupid things, all for how they'd felt.
Aidan didn't hold back, he couldn't. She needed to know that he didn't hold it against her and he didn't hate her for leaving. He was proud - glad - she had. And he needed to convey that he was sorry. For disappearing. For being gone for a year. For not being there when she needed him. For any and all hurt that he had caused to her. He moved closer still and gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly to his chest, losing his fingers in her hair.
If the moment hadn't been so somber, he might have laughed that the smell he'd caught off of her had been dinosaurs.