"Don't take this the wrong way," he says, glancing down at her with what, on better days, could have been a smile. "But that's adorable."

And he likes it. It's a fun contrast. The woman as she might appear and what he knew - specifically the back of his head remembered - her to be.

As the noise of the mess hall drifts over them, he pauses, exhaling as she draws in. A small muscle under his right eye starts twitching in time to the scrape of silverware.

"Come on. Let's find you a seat."

He imagines (hopes) she doesn't any more company than he does, and starts steering her toward the first empty table.