He doesn't look the same.

She expects that, logically. Even before his untimely passing it had been years since she saw him last. He wasn't frozen in time in reality the way he was in her mind and yet - she spends a good amount of time just looking.

The eye is new but not - she never quite got used to his scars. The scowl lines, laugh lines are deeper and he finally lost some of what she called his baby cheeks. It's a mirror of her changes - she's leaner, more thin scars crossing over her skin.

Delta makes her blink, finally, breaking the gaze and looking at his projection. There's a momentary ache for Epsilon she swallows down, but the sadness of loss is clearer on her face at that moment.

"Good morning, Delta." It's a familiar greeting and her tone is still fond, but her gaze is dragged back to York. What does she say? She knows what she shouldn't say (We need to talk, its a quick way to lose York).

She doesn't remember doing it but the weight of the lighter is in her hand, instinctively touched in her jacket pocket. She pulls it out, holding it loosely in front of her but - she doesn't have words yet.