He waits until she is fully seated. Slowly, keeping both hands in view, at all times, he reaches for the wheels of his chair. Nudge forward. Nudge back. Turns himself, just enough to be pointed towards her side of the room. Far below the threshold of facing her. Then he is blinking at her, finding her eyes through a curtain of skulls. “I’m a Captain, now. Meals aren’t a part of my job anymore. And I think the chef who made that did quite good, for where she is.”

This might be worse? This might be worse. Those who’ve been through fire together ought to share more than names. To be fed ought to be be more than a full stomach. 

“...though, if you like,” and he is watching her cautiously. Hands folded deliberately in his lap. Waiting to see how she will see him. “And you’re willing to push me to the kitchens, I could fix you something more to your taste?”