Marek wasn't unsympathetic to Melinda's plight, at all. But giving Melinda a shoulder to cry on wasn't his style, even if it would have done her any good. It would just be one more moment in which she was depressed and weaker than he cared to think about her being, or at least another moment in which she would feel that way. Provoking her into being angry at him, at least, might turn into their normal bitchy squabbling, so they could finally get back to being - well, normal.
He wasn't expecting her to come out swinging, though. It had been a while since she'd actually hit him, though it was hardly unheard of. He had just barely gotten to his feet, a glare half-formed on his face, when her fist caught him in the jaw; he reeled, raising one hand to touch his jaw once he'd caught his balance.
It hurt, of course. His face was already tender there, having been fairly recently burned, and Melinda knew how to throw a punch. Something inside him snapped - and he'd thought he'd snapped when he'd started delivering those low blows verbally, but no, there was still more to come.
With a sound that was halfway between a snarl and a cackle (and where that cackle had come from, he had no bloody idea), he lunged, both hands going for her face. Forget stealing the scarves behind her back. He was going to rip this one the fuck off.