27
- 27 -
There was nothing left to do but return to the base.
Rodin collapsed in a chair as Vanya let Paskia see to her arm—a lucky hit, nothing more. The cut was long, but not too deep, and after cleaning it Paskia fixed some staple strips and covered it. Vanya remained stoic throughout.
A mug—black, strong, steaming—appeared in front of Rodin. He nodded his thanks and sipped, his body aching.
“Your turn,” Paskia said, moving to his side.
“I’m fine.”
“You grunted when you leaned over for that mug.”
“It’s called breathing out.” But Rodin knew there was no point arguing. He took off his jacket and top, leaned forward so that Paskia could examine him. And he thought of those times in Sertio’s studio, when they’d both been n***d, modelling for the man. But this was different. S
