She didn't say a word as she watched him meander to the bathroom and begin stripping off his clothes. No, no, no, see, this was another reason why she wasn't even trying to get married. Yeah, when it was all romantic in the castle, it sounded good. But the old dolls were right. Once everyday reality hit, and all the magic was gone, the wife would be the one picking up funky-drunk clothes and whatnot, when there were serious matters at hand. Uh-uh. And, yeah, they had money, but maid service wasn't an option. It wasn't like they could just hire some innocent lady to come in daily to sweep up, pick up, dust and polish around weapons, and do toilets with the undercover lifestyle they lived. She hadn't been able to do that in L.A. when they did have a compound.

All this bullshit, when they had really tough situations to attend to? And he had been whining about not liking his fate? She'd give her blade arm to go back to the old compound days of just fighting regular demons, and being able to quell a night-crawler disturbance by the easy swing of a sword.

He didn't like the old mundane arrangement? Everybody had a round of chores - but as a wife, she knew how the thing would go! Just like all of a sudden, Big Mike had been acting like his legs were broken now that Inez was putting plates in front of him and doing his dishes. The new terror at hand would change all that, she bet. Like how Shabazz took liberties with Marlene, and Berkfield was the worst offender of them all. Yeah, everybody just got a wake-up call.

Before this recent serious turn of events, all Jose had to do was look toward the fridge, and Juanita had a beer in hand, dashing in his direction... and poor Krissy had been spoiling J.L. rotten. That's why she had to get the hell out of that house. The dynamic had changed. It was like sex made people stooopid! All bullshit aside, when it came down to a firefight, and it got real, wasn't no gender in the game - so why in the hell should it be all rosy-cozy during so-called normal hours of operation? The only ones who had sense were the brothers who weren't getting any. Maybe the clerics in the cloister had the right idea.

Damali cringed as she heard Carlos upchuck again. For a minute she wished he could still wave his hand, snap his fingers, and change his environment. Cleaning the toilet behind some man was not her role as the Neteru, and the wife gig wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. No, why trade in a perfectly reasonable title to be a babysitter, nursemaid, chambermaid, and cook? There were no words. She'd hand his ass a mop, bucket, sponge, and some Lysol and be done with it.

Damali went outside and leaned against the deck rail. Some first weekend alone. All because she'd held her ground, and was sick of his tight jaws, bad vibes, and attitudes for the past several months, he gone and gotten himself totaled? Right now he was useless.

She'd been very understanding, allowing him to grieve, go through all the changes necessary, readjust to the group situation. She'd practically kissed his behind to keep the peace. But did that matter? No. He'd allowed Yonnie to take him out and get him wasted like that, with so much pending? Oh, so how was he gonna act when they had a really big fight? The Armageddon was about to kick off any day now; in fact, it might have already started. Carlos had to be razor sharp, and ready to rumble when the going got tough. That was what was panfrying her brain.

What he'd been sulking about had been relatively minor, truth be told. But was this how it was gonna be? What had possessed her to go get that man? She could have handled this as team leader herself. The next time, if there was a next time for her to feel compassion toward a dumb bastard, she'd kick herself first.

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