"No, that was included, it just graduated from expected 'my husband is a mercenary admiral' levels of appalling into a new tier at the point where your shoulder was already broken and you had to shoot a slug-thrower with that arm." She kisses his forehead and smooths his hair.

"Aha. Well, now you know to adjust your expectations of appallingness upward," he jokes. "Anyway, I was hardly going to shoot with the other arm, then I wouldn't have had any totally functional arms left. That's generally considered a major drawback in combat."

"One which you soon suffered, to hear Quinn tell it, or is that solely for symmetry?" she asks, gesturing at his bandaged left arm.

"Ah. No, my left arm was doing pretty well when I got here, the surgeons just suggested that while they had to replace most of the bones in the other they might as well do both, and I agreed."

"Quinn said you had two fractures in your forearm and a broken finger. Apparently I'm meant to categorize that as 'pretty well' - I decline to call it 'totally functional'."

"All right," he concedes, "that's fair."

More forehead-kiss. "Hopefully soon you can come home and we can figure out some combination of hand-feeding and liquid-nutrition-plus-straws that works for you while not being hospital food."

"I admit the hand-feeding doesn't sound so bad."

Kiss. "All right. And I suppose I'll shut up the fur somewhere in case it snuggles too energetically for comfort."

He snorts. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. It's been very nice to have in your absence, though."

"I'm glad."

Kiss! "Simon apologized to me," she mentions. "After formally clearing me to know the things I know. It would have been rather awkward if I had remained barred from knowing them, I suppose."

"Yes. But apologized? That's - interesting. When?"

"Shortly after you landed. Cordelia thinks it was because he was reminded of the concept of apologies existing when he had to give you one."

"Yes, that's... more or less what I was just thinking."

Pet pet pet. "Do you want to see the notes?"

"Sure."

She defines her pen's display area where it will be easy for him to see and calls them up. As an afterthought, she collects a new medical scan, compares it with the baseline in the old rib fractures, and pockets the scanner again with the new image saved as baseline complete with synthetic arm bones.

"The new and improved Miles," he jokes.

"Well, the new and slightly less breakable Miles. Maybe try to schedule your next batch of replacements?"

"I don't know about you, but I consider being less breakable a definite improvement. Anyway, I don't know if I want to replace any more bones - they only get trickier from here, I'm told. I'll wait and see."

"If your ribs were not so breakable," Linya says, "you could be less carefully squeezed."

"Yes, but I'd have to pay for that privilege by going through this business over again with my ribs. I'm not keen on the idea. Suggest it again in a few months when I've had time to forget how much it hurts."

She kisses his forehead again. "I'll make a note of it, if you're done reading the correspondence."