"irony": "a state of affairs or an event that seems deliberately contrary to what one expects and is often amusing as a result."

Harvesting cotton should be a zen-like activity, but I could not think of nothing. The cotton reminded me of needing crafting clothing, which reminded me of the explosion. Husband suggested the harvesting was instead "therapeutic". I think I was less angry by the afternoon.

The matching crafting headgear recipe requires aldgoat leather. Husband said there is goat hunting on private land south of Tulsa, but that we would probably need to do it at night. So we ended the day with the cotton, and dinner, and weaving, and some rest, before evening work.

Husband was on-shift at the Pit. I was going over maps in my journal at the bar. It was still early in the evening, so it was quiet enough to hear someone talking to Husband.

"Hey, check out the babe at the end of the bar."

"You mean my wife?"

"Seriously? You're married to Cat's Meow? Man, what's that like?"

"...You have no idea."

"Yeah, I bet. Hey, don't mind me, okay?"

"Don't sweat it. Enjoy your evening."

I kept my eyes on my journal. I heard Husband settle next to me.

"...Cat's Meow?"

"That is my stage name."

"You're a stripper?"

"What is a stripper?"

"Someone who takes off their clothes to entertain others."

"Do you think I would do that, Husband?"

"No, but they often have stupid names like that."

"It is a stupid name. I did not choose it."

"So, not a stripper?"

"No. I fight in an arena."

"...You found a fight club."

"It is part of a casino."

"You found a casino."

"It is called Twin Pools Casino Skiatook."

"You found an indian reservation."

"Is that what they meant by 'the rez'?"

"Probably. How'd you find it?"

"I was flying around to map. It was very shiny and crowded. I was curious."

"Gotcha. So...did you win anything?"

I brought out my money and offered it to him. "Is this a lot?"

He spent some time counting it. "Fifty-five hundred dollars. That's...quite a bit."

"What can we buy with it?"

"You earned it. What would you like to buy with it?"

"Will it buy a house?"

"Houses cost more than winnebagos."

"That is a lot of fighting."

"Yes it is. Anything smaller you can think of?"

Different clothes. Perhaps a bicycle. I have not really thought of things I might want. Most of what I want is changes and understanding and things that perhaps cannot be bought. "We are married. It is our money. Do you have ideas?"

"Several. Do you want to hear them?"

I nodded.

"Okay...I'd like to send five hundred or so to Original Me to cover our Amazon purchases. I'd also like to buy the lighting fixtures for the shed. Couple phones so we can get and make calls. Couple laptop computers or tablets so we're not dependent on the library..."

"I like the library."

"Yeah, but wouldn't it be nice to look up stuff at home too? And type wherever you want?"

"I could type here...?"

"Don't see why not. Maybe we can set Sam up with internet. But what I think we should do soon is find a fight trainer."

"We know how to fight."

"We know how to kill. Have you been killing your opponents?"

"I have tried not to."

"But you've been winning because you're strong, right? Gotta remember, we're a lot stronger than Earth people, and it's better not to show that too much. If we learn Earth-conventional fighting, we can make it look like we're winning with skill instead of strength."

"Some of them fight by grabbing."

"Yeah, that's wrestling. We never did that in Eorzea. I'm thinking wushu and jiu jitsu for redirection of force, krav maga for creative improvisation, and general mixed martial arts practice."

"You know these skills?"

"Nope. We'll learn them together. And it'll help keep the game going a little longer."

"The game?"

"Yeah. See, your fight club might make some money from tickets, but it makes a lot more from betting. People bet against you and lose, the house makes money. But if you win all the time, no one will bet against you and they won't make money off of you. So they either won't let you fight any more, or they'll want you to start losing."

"I do not want to lose."

"Didn't think you did. So we get some training in conventional skills, so that rather than looking like an unbreakable rock that can't lose, you look like a skillful fighter that can. That should keep the bets going for a while."

"But there will come a time when they will stop?"

"Probably. At which point we find another fight club."

"They will become further and further away."

"So we'll need the winnebago or teleportation. Or both."

It is disappointing that fighting needs to be so complicated. But perhaps it will make it more interesting too...the "game" Husband mentioned seems to be the complications about fighting rather than the fighting itself.

Husband signaled to Sam, who obligingly brought a cider. He took a sip, then studied the label for a moment. I suspected I knew what he was going to say next.

"So...when were you going to tell me about the fighting?"

"I am telling you now."

"After some random jerk did. Were you planning to tell me?"

"Do I need to tell you everything?" As I said it, I wondered why I said it.

"Well, it helps cut down on surprises from random jerks. Is there a reason you didn't tell me?"

We had talked about causality... how everything that happens happens because something makes it happen. So, yes, there was a reason I had not told him. I had not truly thought about it before then, though.

"I do not know who I am."

He did not respond.

"Since we came here, to this world, since hearing your theories, since seeing myself in the Final Fantasy game...I have been uncertain about myself. I still sometimes wonder if I am real. I wonder who I am here. I wonder what defines me, what makes me. I wonder if I have..."

"Identity."

"Yes. Thank you. The fighting was helping with that. It was something I was doing, something I found to do."

"Using a name someone else gave you."

"It is still identity. It is my identity. It is something that I am, that I do. I am not defined as being your wife. I am defined as someone who does things. Do you understand? Can you understand?"

His eyes were still on the bottle. "What would I know about identity? I'm just a copy of another man."

He laid a hand on the bar, palm facing up. I thought he wanted my hand, but he said, "Do you see the little lines on my fingertips?"

I looked at his fingers. The light in the bar was not very bright, but I could see signs of curving lines in the skin.

"They're called fingerprints. Supposedly everyone's in this world are different, so police and government use them to identify people. You get arrested, they get your fingerprints, they put them in a computer, and if you've ever been fingerprinted before, they find out who you are..."

He raised his hand and looked at his fingers. "If they get my prints, they'll find they belong to a middle-aged man on the east coast who's occasionally done work for the government. They'll think it's a glitch, or it's wrong, but they'll check it out and maybe make trouble for him. And for me. Might call the government to check it out. That can make for all sorts of fun."

He finally looked up at me. "Your prints won't be in the system. That's okay. That just means they don't know who you are. No one's going to think you don't exist. But I can't exist. I'm an anomaly. What I think of as my life, my name, my family...none of that belongs to me. My only life is here and my only family is you."

He sighed and turned back to his bottle. "So, yeah, maybe I know something about identity."

Husband had mentioned fingerprints before, but not to indicate they were important. I looked at my own hand. I saw similar lines on my fingers. I cannot say if I have always had them, or if it is only this world's body that has them. The shape and texture of my fingertips was never important in Eorzea.

Scared shitless. That is what Husband said the last time I asked him how he could be so calm. He always appears calm. He always appears to know what he wants, what he is going to do. He has told me there are things we need to focus on, things we need to consider important, appearances to maintain.

He has not told me he has fears.

"You have not talked about these feelings before."

"You didn't tell me you were prizefighting."

My stomach felt strange. I knew what the right words were. I did not want to say them. "We need to talk."

He nodded. "We need to talk."

"Is there a word for this?"

"Communication breakdown?"

"No. My words turning against me."

"Ah. Irony."

I rested my hand on his. He turned his hand and clasped mine.

"Did you think I wouldn't be proud of my magnificent miqo'te?"

"I think I was trying to be proud of myself."

"Well, for what it's worth, I am. You're strong and capable and accomplished."

"If I was strong I would not have tried to hide it from you. But you have been hiding your fears from me."

"Didn't want to worry you. You know...more than we're already worried."

"We are married. It is our worry."

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I think we're stronger together."

I squeezed his hand. "Perhaps we are weaker apart."

"Perhaps we are. But do you need...space? Do you need to do things alone?"

"You have your projects. Perhaps they are our projects, but you start them and I help with them. This felt like my project. Do you understand?"

"Yeah. It's just that doing something like that and not telling me feels a little like you want to leave me out of your life."

"I am sorry. I was thinking more of me than of you."

"Well, maybe I can help with your project? We can do the training together."

"Yes. And perhaps you can help with the bandits."

I felt some tension in his hand. He looked up slowly. He met my eyes for a long moment before speaking.

"Yes, my love. I would like to help with the bandits."