Brogan, who was sitting on the sofa beside Vera, tossed in his thoughts. “Does that mean I can take your share of supper? I’m ‘full clammed’—” He looked to Vera as he repeated the phrase, having tacked on something of a question mark at the end. Vera nodded, and he looked to Baz. “I’m full clammed m’self, you know.”

“I’d be happy to challenge you to a bout of fisticuffs with the winner taking the other’s portion, if you’d like,” Baz said.

A laughing smile pulled at the Irishman’s face. “You do remember I grew up a child of the streets and survived by my fists for most of that.”

“And, though I’ve worked hard to stop sounding like it, so did I.” Baz hooked an ebony eyebrow upward.

“Did you?” That clearly intrigued Brogan.

In a voice filled with the East End, something he seldom allowed, Baz answered, “These hands ain’t always been used for mending. They’ve known times when creatin’ the need for mending were a much better use.”

The two men laughed, and that seemed to be the end of it. Gemma wondered if Brogan realized, though, how light Baz really was making of the situation. He’d adopted fine manners and speech so his patients would trust him, but she knew details of her husband’s childhood that had sent shivers down her spine. Few things did that to a Kincaid.

Móirín poked her head inside in the next instant. “Food’s on the table.”

Brogan helped Vera to her feet. She winced as she moved. Gemma didn’t know the extent of her friend’s injuries, and she’d not been nosy enough to pry, but anyone watching could tell those injuries were extensive. Brogan kept an arm around her as the two of them walked from the room.

“I wish I could assure her that she’ll improve with time.” Baz apparently knew where Gemma’s thoughts had gone. “This, though, is likely to be her experience from now on. The pain I’ll address as best I can, but her body won’t heal much beyond what it has.”

“That must knot her temper something terrible. The Vera Sorokina I grew up with weren’t one for slowing down, no matter the twists in the road.”

Baz slipped his hand around hers. His nearness and his touch was comforting, reassuring. “She’s finding her way. These changes might slow her, but they aren’t stopping her.”

Being slowed by the difficulties of life but not stopped by them. There was shocking clarity in that. Not being loved by the man she adored, having her family hunting her, needing to wait weeks to make good her escape . . . it all slowed her. But she didn’t mean to let it stop her.