A strange look came over her face as he responded. She hadn't paid attention to it earlier, perhaps because she'd long since forced herself to stop looking for him, considering the horrifying possibility that he might, actually, be dead. But this man was familiar. Eerily so. Moving slower than usual, she walked around the table, peering down at his face. When he looked up and she caught a glimpse of his features, the expression on her face was as if she'd seen a ghost. It was a good thing her cup had been hovering closely over the the table, because she dropped it with a thunk and hot coffee spilled over her hand.
"Roger?" she said, obviously astounded, mouth agape. As he shielded his face, she suddenly DID get the urge to hit him--not hard, but just to do it. "Oh my fucking god," she said, not yet sitting down. "You've--" she leaned across and smacked his arm with her own rolled up newspaper. If anything, it was almost just to make sure he was there as much as it was a reprimand. It would do in place of a hug, for now. "You've got to be kidding me."
She was looking at him incredulously. "Do you even--I--" she paused. Then, more quietly, "I thought you were dead."