Vince was dully unimpressed with this woman and her attempts at bedside manner. Or, he was as unimpressed as one was wont to be as they emptied their intestines in a bucket. Ms. Crawley, he was remembering slowly, hadn’t looked much better once upon a time when their positions had been swapped. Half hearing her now through his puking only made Vincent want to vomit harder.

Eventually his body reached the extent of its efforts. He dry-heaved for a few more minutes and then sunk back on his heels, wiping his mouth disgustingly on his sleeve. There would be time for tidying later. Vince could feel the fraying edges of his awareness easing in and out. He fought against it, unwilling to be swallowed by a darkness that would lock him away again behind the personality of another invader.

“Water,” he croaked quietly. It was an attempt at a demand and a weak grasp for privacy as the woman refused to leave him be in this moment of humiliation. The second he was well enough to aparate, Vince was gone. He just… wasn’t quite there. Yet.

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