Marek laughed, though it came out fairly dry, not as much mirth in it as usual. It was rare enough that Marek's mood really went sour, and in his lifetime so far, at least 99% of those times had to do with Melinda. She was the biggest, and most constant, influence on his mood. She wasn't always a bad influence, but when she was bad, it could get pretty bad.
"Something like that," he said, shaking his head. "I might've struck a few low blows, myself. And then I did it with my fists. But she threw the first punch."
He'd meant every word, even though he'd said it in anger. Not that they were all necessarily entirely true, but they were designed to get the reaction he'd gotten. Admittedly, he hadn't expected it to turn into a physical fight, but in retrospect, he probably should have.
Whatever. He'd meant every blow he'd landed on her body, too.
"I'll punch you in a second," he said, though it was obviously an empty threat. It was even accompanied by a slight grin; Merlin, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed playful bickering. Melinda hadn't been good for it lately.
Despite his words, he did take a seat - any blow to his dignity on this point was a drop in the bucket compared to everything else that he'd gone through today. And he opened the salve, starting to rub it onto the bruises on his face, and the ones he could reach on his upper chest, where the top few shirt buttons had come slightly undone. When he'd done that, he buttoned them up and made a vague attempt to straighten the rest of his rumpled clothing, too.
"No one has ever said that about my cooking before," he said. "I clearly missed my calling. Pregnant women are my people, I just never knew it before." He chuckled, more genuinely this time. "Maybe if I hadn't been so protective of Melinda all these years, she would've gotten knocked up and I would've discovered that earlier."