On an average day, Tess doesn't think of these moments, these angry and tense arguments that would have most women scurrying out the door. Hell, most people run from him when the temper comes out, and with far fewer words at that. Her eyebrows just go up, but it's disapproval instead of surprise. Her mouth drops open, but it's exasperated rather than at a loss for words.

She knew this was coming today. She knew it because she could smell it on him. She knew he'd come home with an acrid stink the moment he left this morning because he'd had a bandanna tucked into his belt as he went out the door. And she knew he'd pick a fight because he never comes home from pyre duty without a fight to pick.

These are the motions and they will never be easier to roll with, so she simply chooses not to waste her time waiting for them to be.

"It'll cost what it costs," she tells him, firm. She is not a shouter, rarely even raises her voice, and it is no different here. Calm and firm is the way to go. But an ugly little undercurrent slips in, too, passive-aggressive: "And you went to work. If you wanted to come with me, you could have."

He could have spared them both this bullshit, this self-inflicted torture. Sure, another job would have paid less, but she'd take half-rations for his happiness.

And then there's her parting shot, a broad-armed gesture to Vanna White herself, to demonstrate that she is in one piece. Shower-fresh, marred only by last week's bumps and bruises. Alive. It's supposed to be reassuring.

"I'm fine, Joel."