"Tools," Alex finds it's a little easier, that his voice doesn't wobble as much, if he focuses on the most immediate concerns: survival. It's not the same as roughing it back in Detroit, all the stuff he's glossed over with Clara because he didn't want her to worry, but it's a start. "Food, water. Blankets for you. Bed might be shot, but..."

Alex makes a weird gesture with his shoulders like he's trying to shrug and finds the joints don't quite work the same way he's used to: it's this strange little jiggle of his shoulder plates and he has to wonder if he even has shoulder to begin with. Alex glances at the windows. No one's tried rattling the doors yet. Alex points at the windows. The neighborhood Clara's used to, having big open windows was a selling point. Now he wishes these had bars.

"We need to get these boarded up. We do that, I think we can sleep a little easier." What he really means to say is Clara can sleep easier. Him, he's planning to stay up all night if he has to. Although looking at his wife, the way her eyes are wide and still glistening with tears, and he thinks she might not be doing much sleeping either.