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They run.
They run through time and space, saving planets and civilizations as Clara had done with the Doctor.
They run until Ashildr drags her to their room to rest.
Clara remembered how the Doctor very rarely got tired. They would finish two days straight of adventures and he would still be fiddling for hours with the engine while Clara slept. Or sometimes, he would forget she needed rest at all, and would look at her with complete surprise when she said she needed a break. Once or twice, she would be so high off adrenaline that she too forgot. Times when she was trying to be so much like the Doctor that she ended up passing out as soon as they walked through the TARDIS doors.
But watching from the outside didn't prepare her for what it was like to not get tired.
Being dead was odd. Clara could eat, but she didn’t really get hungry. She could sleep, but she didn't really get tired.
So when Ashildr slept, she would wander the TARDIS, reading or doing repairs. Or more often than not, she would just lay awake in bed, fingers curled in her girlfriend's hair, and let the smaller girl's warmth fill her cool body.
How did I get lucky enough to end up with her? Clara asks herself one evening as she looks at Ashildr’s sleeping face.
Her body is young, still very similar to the state she was when she was made immortal billions of years ago. It's easy to forget this in the day, when she holds herself with authority and is all clever mind and smart mouth. But at night, she looks peaceful and small and fragile, with perfect lips curled In a soft smile. Clara wondered, not for the first time, what she was dreaming about.
“I know I'm brilliant, but you can stop staring at me,” Ashildr mutters sleepily, moving to brush her lips against Clara's lightly without opening her eyes, “Do you often watch me when I'm asleep?”
“Only when you look this good.”
Ashildr snugged closer against Clara, still half asleep, “So always?”
Clara laughed softly and kissed her forehead.
How did she get so lucky?