Besides the obvious wound, they both have to agree that something's wrong with Mavis.
She would get sick to her stomach, have random headaches that would wear her out. Sometimes her skin would flush as if burned and be tender to the touch before it healed again, and when it happened to her back, it looked downright painful. She'd get tired more easily, and sometimes sleep more deeply, which scared Jonathan. Mavis would get ill, pale with cold sweats. Mavis is sick; it's eating at her...
The thing is...whatever happens is always slightly staved off when she drinks Blood Beaters... And Mavis wants―no... She needs more blood...
She tries to hide it, but he sees how she looks at their Blood Beaters supply when she thinks he's not there, how thirsty she looks...
He never remembered seeing that look on her face, even when she'd been 'hungry' before all...this.
Her stomach actually growls even after she eats regular food. She tries to laugh it off, but...
One time Johnny had caught her messing with his backpack, absently fiddling with the zippers on it as if contemplating opening it. He doesn't confront her or anything, he just watches, not letting her know he's there. She doesn't open the backpack. He's relieved, no doubt about that, but...he's wary now... He doesn't like feeling that.
Neither of them say anything about it, but there's an unmentionable deadline hanging over their heads, and it intends to strangle...
. . .
Johnny waits until she's taking another nap, before laying out what they had on the counter of another room. The cartons are the heaviest, settling with a 'thunk', the bags hit the counter with a plastic slap and a slosh that sounds too loud in this small room. He glances at the door, but doesn't hear her stir.
The air was cleaner today. Rain and wind were clearing things up outside, but it still looked pretty risky.
There was sleet, sometimes, and he remembered it was late Fall.
No, focus.
He props his hands on the edge of the counter, standing over what he's laid out, trying to think this out...
If you take away the pint she had the other day, they had...
Not enough. No matter what they have it's not gonna be enough...
If he takes into account the new needs for her diet, m-maybe a cup a day, they'd...
It's not enough. The travel time's gonna increase by half, with her in her condition. If she even can travel...
They'd have...enough for...
His hand slightly tears through his hair in agitation. The white noise in the back of his head is irritating him again, all...quiet static...
They won't.
He can't...what if they tried...
Mavis.
Is.
SICK.
Sick people don't travel well, and with all the crap that's out there...
We're not gonna make it, man, not on this.
He honestly doesn't know how he didn't sense her there, but with this ringing in his ears...
"Mmh... Johnny...?"
He looks up to see her leaning in the doorway, the white noise cutting off while she was wearily rubbing a sleep-darkened eye. He feels something in his throat catch, the hairs on the back of his neck prickle when she glances at the counter in front of him, a slight frown on her face. They stand there quietly, and he can only stay frozen, eyes wide while she looks on... He's about to open his mouth to explain, apologize for going behind her back or something, anything but a lie, he can't lie out of this, when she sighs, pushing herself off the door frame.
"Hey... How's it looking?" she asks simply, padding over to his side to lean on him.
His mouth open and closes dumbly for a moment, until she nudges him silently, and he gives up.
"It's not," he tries, hanging his head, "It's not good. It's not good, it's... Mavis, I'm sor―"
"Nope." she interrupts bluntly, gently pinching his arm, making him yelp. He glares at her reproachfully, rubbing his arm, and she smirks tiredly, "I'm not stupid, Johnny," she tells him, a wry twist to her mouth that conveys a slight bitterness, "I'm kinda mad, yeah, but not for what I think you're thinking... Stop babying me."
He's standing stock-still, and she hums, staring at the objects on the counter, ". . . I'm too tired for this," she muttered, "Whatcha thinkin'?"
He swallows, hesitant, "W-well, we have those two and half a quarts left, there, and three―"
"Johnny."
He shuts up, feeling her rub her head slightly against his shoulder, "I'm not asking what you think about this." she waves a dismissive hand at the counter, "I'm asking what you think about..." her hand is more vaguely gesturing, before she ruffles her bangs, "Al-l-l this stuff. I'm asking about you."
". . . You lost me." he confessed, and she snorted, "C'mon, you've heard me and my baggage. Heck, you literally carried my baggage." she persisted, shoving him gently, "I'd like to think you've earned a little 'rant time'..." "Um-m, guys don't do 'rant time'..." he mumbled defensively, making her laugh.
"How about some downtime, then?" she asks instead, starting to drag him away, "I'm kinda missing my pillow."
He almost lets her take him away. Almost.
"No, not right now," he gently extricates himself, backing to the counter, shaking his head, "Mavis, I'm sorry, I...I gotta sort this out..."
Instead of protesting, Mavis just stands there, and that probably gets his notice more than anything else she could've done.
She's staring at him, head tilted, pupils disturbingly dilated. He remembers seeing her enraptured expressions, at that one sunrise, or just before she'd kissed him on the dance floor, but this expression felt slightly different, putting out a different intent, and not a good one... It actually felt slightly...off...
Mavis surprises him by stepping forward to lean and place her hands on the counter on either side of him, standing almost against him, moving her face close to his as she essentially pinned him there with her lithe body... "Then sort it out with me..." she told him quietly. His tongue felt stuck to the back of his throat as he felt her breath against his lips. ". . . You're stressed," she continued, almost idly, "You're worrying all the time, all by yourself, banking, heh, banking blood..." She took a moment to giggle at her joke, and somehow it's scary. ". . . It kinda makes me worry, too, Johnny," she continued after a beat, sadly, "I just want you to let me in, yeah...? I just want you to...relax a little..."
His breath shudders when she brushes her lips over his, then over his cheek, trailing almost absently to his ear, where she exhales on the cartilage, cra-a-ap...
"M-Mavis, I'm gonna be honest with you and say it's really hard to relax at the moment...!" he stuttered, making her back off slightly and finally blink.
"You mean... It's not working?" she asked sadly, almost pouting. That makes him break out in a high, nervous laugh, "Tha-at's not what I mean..." he strained, feeling the small of his back pressing sharply against the counter's edge, his own hands nervously gripping it until the knuckles were white.
She blinks again, and then her face colors red, "Oh, I―oh, I, oh, geez, I'm, didn't mean, I'm so―oh-h bog it!"
His brain shorts out when the presence of her body abruptly leaves his, as she stumbles back. He's...stunned. She didn't actually mean that she wanted―...? Whuh?
He blinks, mutely watching her pace agitated circles, speaking gibberish about...something... Bleah, bleah, bleah? He doesn't know.
Something seems to be up with his ears at the moment...
In the space of a few seconds, confusion is replaced with frustration, which is then replaced with determination...
Mavis, in the midst of trying to explain herself, is abruptly silenced when she is firmly pushed up against the wall and kissed...
It was not chaste, nor careful, or even controlled. It was just an awkward, messy meeting of the mouths that she accepts with equal enthusiasm―enthusiasm which is incredibly, heavily disappointed when he just as quickly breaks off the kiss, breathing ragged, "You don't want me to baby you, right? You want me to rant, Mavey...?" he asks her hoarsely, almost solemn, ignoring her half-formed protest, a hand cupping the back of her head, the other pressing against her shoulder, thumb stroking the gentle ridge of her clavicle through her shirt, "Okay...yeah, okay, I'll rant..."
She's staring wide-eyed, then squeaks when he suddenly picks her up, "Hey!"
"One," he starts matter-of-factly, turning about as she awkwardly clutches at his shoulders for support, striding past the counter and towards the doorway of the room, "I'm seriously considering adding 'freaky scary mood swings' to the list of what's going on with you."
"Johnny?!" she protested, partly out of indignation, mostly out of confusion as he ducked slightly to avoid her getting conked by the door frame.
"And two," he continued easily, straightening, quickly striding down the short hall, "When we started this trip, struggling for survival was the last thing I expected us to be doing. Wasn't even on the list―wasn't on any list, so, yeah, I guess that can be kinda stressful. Finding nothing cool whatsoever with our current situation here, except for just being alive and, well, together. Anyway, three, I'm still not sure how things got so wrong, so, really kinda shakes my faith in my own race, right? Getting way too deep and introspective-y, there. And I...dang it, I like people, so this is... Huh."
He stood in front of the room they'd decided to crash in while they were here, staring at the closed door, aware that he had his arms full.
He really wasn't feeling too inclined to empty them.
He cleared his throat, ". . . Can you, um, can you get that, please?"
Stunned, the vampire mutely reaches down to get the doorknob, twisting awkwardly at the waist, blushing. His arms are supporting her, wrapped around her waist and under her thighs while his face was slightly pressed against her neck, under her chin, almost possessively. He walked in, nudging the door open with his foot, hooking his toes on the edge as he walked in to close it behind them. "Thank you. Four, I'm worried about our real chances of survival, here, either to travel or even just to eat. I took us out here, I'm responsible for this," he resumed bluntly, still holding her while he kicked off his shoes, worked his socks off by stepping on them, not letting her go, and Mavis's fingers were digging nervously into his shoulders, and he kept talking, "I'm scared about it, Mavis. Scared for us, for you, heck, maybe even of you. I seriously have no clear idea what I'm doing. I mean, y'know, even more than usual, heh, but this is when it's actually going to count. And that really does suck..."
His grip loosens enough to lower her until their faces are near level. He looks over her hurt expression, his own softening as he kissed where he could reach, her lower lip, "And Mambo number freaking five..." he murmured against her. He gently, carefully let her fall back on the bed in a floof of thin mattress and the almost papery crinkle of hospital sheets, moving to be over her before she could react, no part of him touching her except for where their noses almost brushed, where strands of his wild hair wisped over the skin of her forehead, "I'm a grown man, Mavis..." he told her quietly, looking evenly at her deer-in-the-headlights expression, it's adorable, but it's still what it is, stirring mixed feelings in his gut...
Mavis swallows, a dry click in her throat. She can feel the dents he makes in the mattress on either side of her hips and shoulders, the bed is soft and cool with gentle age beneath her back, comforting even with the funny sheet things. The pressure and the presence his body radiates is almost tangible even when the most she can feel is his hair and breath. Goosebumps... She shifts her legs, feeling her feet still slightly graze the floor, but any major movement she made would bring them into contact... She could mist but that'd be...she didn't want to. In the greyish light from the patchy storm outside, he sheds gentle shadows, which are both a comfort and cautioning...
"Y-you're afraid of me...?" she asks, feeling that stupid wavering in her voice, and he groans, shaking his head, "No, no, not like that, it's―I love you, Mavis, it's just..." His head rests on her shoulder, his own shoulders shifting to make for his weight, "You can't do things like that to me," he continued tiredly, muffled into her shirt, "And then tell me you didn't at least mean something by it... A lot of stuff's happened to you, and I don't know...I don't know how to handle it..."
Her hand absently comes up to comb through the back of his scalp, and it's soothing for the both of them. She just does that for a while, thinking, ". . . So, what, you just shut me out?" she questions, and gently presses in her fingers when he makes to raise his head, keeping him there, "I'm here too, Johnny." she tells him, "I'm hurt, yeah, but I'm still here... Don't forget that, okay?" He nods, the stubble on his face grazing her throat, then his mouth is, and she feels her breathing hitch, "And..." she continues hesitantly, dragging her fingertips down through his hair to lightly scrape her nails down the nape of his neck, "Is...this...really so bad...?"
She feels him freeze under her touch, and holds her breath when he levers himself up to look at her, eyelids lowered and expression...contemplating...
". . . I honestly don't think we're ready." he said quietly.
She stares up at him, "But then, why―?"
He kissed her, but this one was much gentler, not as desperate, meant to soothe, but she turns her head aside, breaking it to glare at him.
"You bring me here and then you say that?" she growled.
"I brought you here to make my point, and I'm doing what you want me to." he told her, looking tired, "I'll take a break, I'll talk, okay?"
She blinks when he rolls over onto his side, hitting the mattress with a thud that makes her bounce slightly.
His shadows are gone, and the room is grey, but he's warm beside her.
". . . See?" he asks, when she stares at the ceiling, and this time his voice is a little wry, but warmer, "Doesn't feel good."
She blinks again, then snarls, the moment broken, "You jerk."
He sits up when she storms up the wall, immediately apologizing, "No, wait, hey, Mavis..."
"You are frustrating me, Johnny," she snaps, pacing the ceiling.
"You only look at me and don't tell me anything and we dance around each other and frankly it's getting pret-ty old."
She rubs her forehead, her face, before glaring at him, "What's it gonna take for you to cut the crap?" she asks bluntly.
"I can't be the princess of the hotel anymore, obviously."
Jonathan was agape, "I never said that―"
"I want to learn what I can expect." she said, interrupting him, "I want...I want to be in the know, Johnny. I don't want you to deal with all this by yourself." She sat on the ceiling, out of reach, crossing her arms over her crossed knees to watch him, "So just let me in already. I'm tired of arguing."
". . . It might involve arguing..." he warns.
She shrugs, "We'll work something out." she decides.
He slightly scowls, "Could we talk down here?"
"Nope," she says bluntly, "You'll distract me, and then we'll really have to talk about...that..."
That makes him pause, then snicker, "Pot, kettle?" he quips.
They both laugh a little at that, and then settle down to talk seriously, putting aside the things personal in favor of the things survival.
"Hey... You know I love you, right?"
"Yeah. I love you, too..."
And they do argue, so much that it's a slightly bitter party that observes the clearest sky they'd yet to see the next day, and prepares to pack out...
