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In theory, it sounded like a good idea. Vincent had convinced himself that somehow, he would overcome his fear due to the genuinely dire needs of his body and the consequences that followed indecision and negligence. Just this once, he thought he could force his phobias into a corner much like he did his morals during his service, and press on. It's nothing, really. He tried to rationalize and yet, as he gazed upon the rubber tourniquet and plastic syringe, he felt nothing but sheer suffocating fear as it seized his lungs with all the force of a vacuum sucking away every gasping breath as he buried his trembling fingers into his hair. He huddled on the lid of the toilet, his leg bobbing sporadically with increased anxiety as that twisting knot of panic curled into his stomach and made him more nauseous than the celebration of his college years.
He rocked steadily in place as the rolling waves lapped at him in swells like heat licking along the uncooperative shaft of an unwilling piece of dry lumber. He felt twisted and frayed, the edges of his will breaking in splinters as he struggled to talk himself into the procedure. It was a necessary treatment, he rationalized. If he didn't do it, he could very truly die. He thought rationality and logical facts would soothe his fears but it only furthered him into a terrifying corner of no return as tears burned his eyes and every breath was bordering on a sob of panic.
The bathroom walls of his shared dorm felt far too claustrophobic, bending and bowing in towards him as he sucked in a sharp shaky breath then let it out in too quick of an exhale that left him dizzy and uncertain. Sweat tickled his brow as he wiped it away with an errant swipe of his sleeve.
His pride refused to take a hit as he had been the one to volunteer for these experimental treatments, with the hopes that at home management would prevent further attacks without the overwhelming and stressful addition of frequent doctor visits. Prescription equipment lined his bathroom, a reminiscent scene from the hospital rooms he had grown so used to seeing these last few months. This was supposed to be a proactive step forward and yet, Vincent felt like he was being crushed under the weight of his own fears as they mocked him through the foggy lens of a microscope.
He very nearly jumped out of his skin when the brush of knuckles rapped at the door. Vincent couldn't recover quick enough as his head snapped up to find Vukašin standing in the doorway, watching him with concern in those familiar aqua eyes. His gaze flickered from the former sniper to the kit abandoned on the sink. It didn't take a genius for Vukašin to piece together the puzzle of his absence and realize what was going on behind semi closed doors.
"Vinnie." There was a deflated sigh of understanding that made Vincent want to curl up with a shattered sense of despair. He buried his face in his palms, fingers still shaking madly as Vukašin stepped into the crowded space and stood before him. His arms snaked around the sniper's shoulders as Vincent looped his own embrace around his husband's waist and let the tears fall, soaking into the front of his shirt.
"I can't do it, Vuka." Vincent admitted softly, his grip tightening as he held the man close. "I thought this time would be different but I can't…"
"Da, idiot. Should have told me." Vukašin chided gently, carding his fingers through Vincent's hair as he drew it back past his face and out of the way as he knelt and pressed their foreheads together in a gentle bump. "I vill do it for you."
Vincent nodded slowly, watching with a sense of loss, confusion rife in his eyes as Vukašin coaxed him through the motions. Vincent wasn't unfamiliar with the ritual at all as he rolled his sleeve up to his bicep, his fingers fumbling clumsily this time around while Vukašin used a sterile wipe to clean the crook of his arm. He didn't look at his husband as he tied the tourniquet and prepared the syringe, but he did share a puzzled expression when Vukašin nudged him off of the toilet to sit on the bathroom rug instead. Vukašin balanced the kit carefully on the edge of the tub while he settled, his back sidled up against the cool porcelain while he dragged Vincent into his lap to get comfortable.
Vincent's eyes strayed to the syringe when Vukašin reached for it and followed it to his lap as the Serbian man traced the vein in his arm with gloved fingertips.
"Ne." Vukašin spoke firmly, drawing Vincent's head away with a tilt of his chin. He pulled him into a chaste kiss as he murmured. "Focus on me, brat."
"Vuka, I-"
"Da, I know." He assured gently, cupping Vincent's jaw in a gentle stroke of fingertips along the missed stubble on his chin. "You are not alone. In sickness and in health, for better or vorse, I am here for you." He reminded.
Vincent nodded, recalling the golden ring strung on the dog tags around his throat and the pleasant weight of them as they bumped against his sternum. A promise made in secret, a marriage with few to witness. A life long bond til death do they part, yet death would part them soon, Vincent knew. He dreaded the day when he would leave his beloved Vuka behind. But today would not be that day.
"Now, I made bet vith Bishop. I vant to vin." Vukašin proceeded, stealing the older man's attention with the easy drop of choice words. "Vhat kind of undervear do you think O'Connor vears? I vonder vhere he even finds ones to fit."
"Granny panties." Vincent's first thought was an unpleasant one for an entirely different but wholly welcome reason.
Both men cringed at the mental image that produced and shuddered. "Do you think it has rats on it?" Vincent inquired.
"Is that even question?" Vukašin scoffed as he nuzzled into Vincent's neck, pressing a kiss against the side of his face. "Gertrude makes them for him."
"She probably had to buy out the fabric store then." The sniper replied easily, sinking back against the warmth of a familiar chest with a shuddering sigh. He slowly settled as Vukašin's fingers trailing small paths along his throat and danced behind his head to comb through his hair. Vincent closed his eyes, his head rolling back with a sigh of relief.
"I feel like this was Bishop's excuse to hide something important." Vincent added.
"Like?" Vukašin led as Vincent opened his eyes.
"His horrible collection of designer banana hammocks with mortifying cartoony imagery on the front. They probably have slogans on them." Vukašin barked out a laugh as Vincent smiled, a genuine twist of his lips that felt freeing after the tense moments he dwelled within minutes earlier. "Something like The second coming."
"Jesus isn't only thing rising." Vukašin added.
"The power of cock compels you and it's a picture of a rooster." Vincent started to laugh, a belly deep tremor of growing amusement as he imagined their beloved Chaplain in something so scandalous.
"Every shepherd needs hook."
"We're going to hell." Vincent cackled.
Vukašin hummed pleasantly at that when Vincent felt a pressure against his arm. Looking down at the crook of his elbow, he was genuinely surprised to find that Vukašin had already inserted the needle and was nearly done. He watched with a moment of queasiness as his blood filled the vial slowly. He tore his eyes away, cleared his throat and squirmed in Vukašin's lap.
"You're doing good." The Serbian praised, his lips brushing over the back of his neck and peppering his jaw in gentle affections. Vincent swallowed thickly and nodded, nuzzling back into his husband's embrace with a small smile.
"Thank you Vuka." Their conversation continued as they batted back and forth until the vial was filled and Vukašin gently removed it from his arm. Vincent felt less shaky than before but the underlying fear remained as Vukašin cleaned the spot with an antiseptic wipe and placed a flowery pink children's bandaid over the puncture, a hilarity that started with Vincent's amusement when applying it to Vukašin and now it was being turned back on himself. A bruise had already formed in the aftermath as the Serbian man smoothed his finger gently over the spot.
His hand rose to wrap his arms around Vincent as they softly butted heads in an affectionate nod. The rest of the used supplies was tossed into a biohazard bag to be properly discarded another day while the kit was latched shut and set aside on the sink. They sat there for several long minutes as Vincent relished in the company of his husband and the stark reality that he truly doesn't need to endure this journey alone. It was hard, harder than anything Vincent has ever had to do in his entire life but it was a fraction easier with Vukašin by his side, just as all problems often were. There is no weakness in asking for help, there is no shame in feeling scared, and there is less pain when he's not alone.