"Well, I am good at talking," I point out, parroting what he said just now. That defensive edge of mine hasn't gone anywhere; he's barely pushing, barely trying to get me to talk, but the irritation from the other day comes rushing back regardless. The problem is, I'm not looking for a fight. I've been so angry these past few months that it doesn't take a heck of a lot to set me off, but I've been trying to stay out of trouble. To keep my nose clean. Because I figure I owe it to the people who still have to put up with me to not explode every time something bothers me.

But I'm a lousy liar. And while what happened the other day wasn't exactly new, it didn't sit with me particularly well, either. I just don't know that that matters. What's done is done, and I was prepared to just leave it in the past before Cap dug it up again -- for what reason, I'm not entirely sure.

"And I'd say you're more bothered than I was. 'Cause I came here ready to work, and then you decided to go all... Dr. Phil on me. I just--"

I throw up my hands, dismissive. "You know what, never mind, I'll shut up. Silent session, just for you. My treat."