Juliana.
The name stalled on his tongue as his mind sped through all of the possible scenarios. What was she doing here in this podunk watering hole in the neutral zone?
She looked different. He started his mental list with the obvious - her hair a bit shorter, no longer in her customary brown but this time a black trench coat and slacks. Beyond that, he felt she looked...like she belonged. Not comfortable, exactly. Still wary, still focused. But unlike the last time they were in the neutral zone, she wasn't just trying to fill someone else's shoes anymore. They were all hers.
He was almost sure she hadn't seen him yet, based on the way she took a satisfied sip of her cocktail, like she was enjoying herself. Putting together the pieces after his briefing when he got back to New York, he figured she'd lived a lot of lives since he's last seen her. And it showed, somehow. On the run from the Reich, the resistance, and yet she seemed...more at home than he'd ever seen her.
It gave him some pause, knocked some of the wind out of his sails. He was suddenly uncertain, unsure of his place in her world. She's always made him feel needed, important, necessary. It was he strongest impression he has left of their time together - she CHOSE him over the Resistance, for god sakes, what else could he be to her but precious? And he always imagined meeting he again like he'd always met her before - in need. Of him. She didn't look that way now.
And then he ran out of time to think these things, because she saw him.