In the end, he didn't email his wife.
Oh, he tried. He had, in fact, been composing possible emails in his head all the way back from
Jim and Spock's quarters. But the lengthier the hypothetical emails, the more overlaid they became with a deeply unwarranted film of vitriol.
Bill came to the conclusion that he was not capable of emailing his wife right now, without courting the risk of blaming her for something which really was not her fault, nor was actually very much at all to ask of one's husband. She had been most accommodating already. She did not in any way deserve the emails currently being formulated in his head.
Still. At least it had completely distracted him from other things.
Stupid expectations of marital fidelity. Stupid Western social norms!
No, he was being good. He was being so very good, and he would be glad about it later, when he was able to look back on this and be self-righteous. Yes.
Oy. He had better be going straight to heaven (do not pass GO, do not collect $200) for
this.
He rigged up Super Zombie Death 14 again, and took great pleasure in splattering each zombie into thousands of scarlet pieces.