"Uh, yeah, exactly, it's just a fucking lightbulb," she echoes, because what the hell does he need to change a lightbulb for by himself, anyway? She doesn't understand why it's so important to get it changed right this second when there's about a dozen other working lights in the apartment and also he has a goddamn broken leg.

And she can tell he's not happy either and she thinks maybe she should go easy on him, because he's bored out of his mind, she totally gets that. But she's been trying to help and Chuck has been trying to help and now he's climbing up on chairs like an idiot while she's out getting him breakfast. She's still not even sure what it is that bugs her so much about it, that he's unwilling to ask for help or that she cares so much about helping. It shouldn't bother her, it doesn't, really, she's happy to help, but she's so goddamn invested in him that it freaks her out a little.

"My stuff?" she asks, turning toward the counter to get the coffee and the bag with the sandwich. "No, this isn't my stuff, this is your stuff. The stuff I went out to get you while you were climbing fucking chairs with a broken leg."