[ Vasiliy's heart sinks a little—he'd been afraid this would happen, and it comes with a degree of guilt. Veshnyakov is a grown man able to gauge his own body's thresholds and determine what he can handle on his own, but it's still painful to watch the loss of control and the obvious distress that follows. ]

Don't apologize. Deep, slow breaths through your nose.

[ Vasiliy strides to the bathroom and quickly returns with a towel and a washcloth, which he holds as he waits for a break in the retching. ]

I think you're reacting to the anaesthetic, comrade. This happens sometimes.

[ He keeps his distance, giving the man more than a foot of space to keep from crowding him—but how he wants to reach out, to rest his hand between the shoulderblades sticking out of Veshnyakov's back and let the weight of his arm soothe him until the frantic heaving dies down. ]