There's a smile on her lips as she opens the door, a faint one; despite the turbulence and terror of the last few days she is glad to see him, above all else. But it fades as she moves aside to admit him, as she properly lays eyes on him and takes in his apparent fatigue, his pallor.

She pushes the door closed, makes sure it's locked securely. (The paranoia hasn't entirely subsided.) And she takes one of his hands, her eyes searching his face.

"Are you okay?"