"Sandor?"
His head snapped in her direction. She hadn't woken since her bite, not really. She had only woke, dazed and barely conscious, to wonder towards the trees and relieve herself. Other than that, she laid silent and still.
He crawled over the driver's seat of the van into the back with her. It was dark inside, and he could only barely see her face. She was craning her neck to try to see something.
"Do you need something?" He asked her, not knowing what else to say.
"Where are we?" She asked, letting her head fall limp back on the makeshift pillow he'd made out of his rolled up jacket.
"Safe." He told her. "Or, as safe as we can get, all things considered."
She nodded and was silent for a moment. "Am I dead?"
"I don't know if you've turned or not. It's hard to tell." It was better to be honest with her than to lie. He'd always hated lying.
"I feel dead." She told him.
He had to ask. "What does it feel like?"
She closed her eyes. "It feels… nice."
A little spark of fear ran through him. He took his waterskin and poured a bit into her mouth. She didn't flinch or fight, only swallowed it down.
"I feel so tired. Like I could close my eyes and sleep forever."
He grimaced. "Maybe I should keep you awake."
"Don't, please. I'm so tired." She turned over, facing him, and stared. "You didn't kill me."
"No, I didn't." He took his own mouthful from the waterskin.
"Why?"
Why had he done it? He didn't know. All he knew was that he couldn't let her die, not without at least trying to save her. All he knew was, for some reason, the thought of being without her chilled him to the bone. There was something about her that was good, that was all he could put together. Even when the world had turned to shit around them, she was still good. She was the only thing left that was good.
"It would be a waste after all the times I've saved you before."
"What do we do now?"
Sandor brought his hand to his face and scratched at his scar. "Well, that depends. Do you think you'd be able to walk?"
"Not very far." She moved her legs under the blankets and sighed. "I'm sorry."
"Don't." He thought for a moment. "Do you need something to eat?"
She nodded and he gave her some meat he had hunted that morning. He wasn't an excellent cook, the ends of it were burned black, but she ate it anyway and never said a word about it.
"Are you angry at me?" She asked.
"What have you done to make me angry?"
"I got scared… I panicked and stabbed him. That's why he bit me. He was going to drag me with him for miles."
He shook his head, wanting to get angry but not being able to summon the emotion as easily as he could before. "It was stupid, sure, but that's what your instincts told you to do. I didn't think you had it in you to stab anyone."
"I didn't want to." Her voice was almost a whimper. "I was afraid."
"You're still afraid." She didn't have to tell him.
"Yes. I don't know what's going on."
"It's been a while, a long while, since you've been bitten. I don't think you've turned yet, but you still might." He thought for a moment. "I should carry you down to the river so you can bathe."
He hadn't bathed her himself. He couldn't. It was too weird.
"Okay." She said. So he carried her. The light from outside bothered her at first, but she grew used to it. When they got to the water, he helped her pull off her clothes and she had enough strength to sit in the shallow water on her own.
"How long has it been?"
"Weeks." He answered her. "I stopped keeping count after two, and that was a while ago."
She looked like she was about to cry. She ran her fingers over her own bony shoulders, her collarbone, her ribs. He looked away. "I look like I'm sick."
"You are sick." He told her, looking down at where sand met water. "If you get better, we'll find more food for you to eat."
"You look sick too."
He looked down at himself. He'd never put too much stock in how he looked, so he never paid much attention, but he thought at that moment that maybe he should start. His clothes were wrinkled and messy. He was thinner than he ever remembered being in his entire life. He probably looked old, too. His already thin hair was probably getting thinner, revealing more of his ugly face.
Suddenly, for the first time in a long time, he was struck with terrible insecurity. He knew he looked uglier than he normally did, and that bothered him. He looked up again and found her staring, a wary expression on her face.
"I didn't mean to offend you." She said.
"I prefer the honesty." He replied with a shrug, more for himself than for her. It didn't matter anyway.
When she was done, she dried and dressed herself, and he carried her back to the van. She was exhausted by then, her head lolling around and her eyes unable to stay open. So he wrapped her in blankets again and set her down in the back. He climbed in with her and closed the doors behind him.
He stayed in the back with her in the event that she woke again, perhaps in the middle of the night, but she didn't. She slept on, and mumbled a bit to herself.
The next night, she shivered furiously under her blankets, her fever rising. Not knowing what to do, he continued to sit with her, and stayed awake to watch. After a few hours, she stopped her trembling. He reached over and felt at her neck for a pulse, finding it easily.
With a sigh of relief, he wiped a drop of sweat from her forehead, and waited for her to wake again. Whenever that would be.