[It's the same sort of compartmentalization and deflection she got used to from Rogers, and she has to wonder - who learned from whom? Or was it simply the product of shared life experience?

She drums her fingers along the wood of the table in an off-beat tune and gives him a look that's a little lost and a lot chagrined.]

I don't know if I am. How does anyone handle something like this? All I can think of is that I hope to God someone feeds my cat. I woke up this morning and took the subway. Now I've got wings. I'm-- [a long, unsteady exhalation.] surviving, I guess. So far.

[For the last few words, she'd been studying the whorls of the table's grain, now her attention flickers up to him.]

What about you? I mean... you're the one that was just in a war. When was the last time you ate?