"I know I didn't need to yell. It just got away from me. I can't stand the idea of seeing you hurt. I can't." He kissed the top of her head and held her close as she kissed him, then his collar and shoulder. He let the stress and tension drain away out of his mind and his body and closed his eyes, breathing deep and slow and steady. "You won't. We'll be okay. Everything will be just fine."<br/><br/>They fell asleep there together again, peace restored between the lovers. The next day, though, it became apparent that Carson was still cautious. He let her come to training, but he insisted that she just watch for the time being. The exercises he put the Runners through were strenuous, designed to enhance what muscle was there and increase stamina. It made sense not to aggravate what was already sore, no matter how minimal it was. The day after when Malia showed up ready to work he again insisted that she simply watch, watch as her friends and companions learned how to shoot and reload and ran obstacle courses. So it went on the third day, and the fourth, and the fifth.<br/><br/>The sixth day out from her recovery found the Runner sitting in the mess hall with some of her fellows, along with Sunny. The Strider scowled over her food at Malia. "So, what, he's just... making you watch? He said he'd train you, but Cars is just forcing you to sit on your ass? That's bullshit, Lia. You gotta whip his ass into shape." She shook her head and picked at her meal, a plate full of something Letto had concocted--finely cut potatoes deep-fried in oil, served with a tangy sort of paste made out of tomatoes. He called them fried potatoes. She called them sex sticks.