Looking relived when she spots Daryl exiting the mess hall (should've gone there first, really) is the easy part. Real and honest, thoughtless as her steps quicken to trot across the last span of sterile corridor. It's not until she's nearly there that she remembers and pulls up, arms remaining at her sides because her initiating an embrace would be different in ways they never discussed and wouldn't likely ever, even if he were to remember them. The two years she can't forget, that's where it gets strange and hollow, and where she won't allow herself to go.

They're here, he's alive, she's not alone, and asking for anything else would be unforgivable selfishness. They made a choice together, it's not his fault she didn't have the decency to forget like she was supposed to.

"How did you manage to get crumbs on your shoulder?" she asks incredulously, because how better to avoid important topics than to discuss insignificant ones? And really, she couldn't care less about his table manners.