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"Are we there?"
His question was met with exasperation, and some sort of retort that disappeared behind the buzz of pain in his skull. Something about the map—Withnail couldn't parse it exactly, as he was far more focused on rummaging around in the foot-well, finding something to quench his pain.
"Where's the whisky?"
"What for?"
"'Got a bastard behind the eyes," he explained, still rummaging. "I can't take aspirins without a drink."
A pause, then—
"Where's the aspirin?"
"Probably in the bathroom." Unusually curt, for Marwood—unemotional, save for the hint of impatience at the edge of his tone.
"You mean," his voice quavered, "we've come out here in the middle of fucking nowhere without aspirins?"
The only reply: "Where are we?"
Obviously not interested, then, in Withnail's complaining—quite unlike his usual attentive self. All his brainpower was surely being used to force his frustrations through his clenched teeth.
Withnail understood immediately, of course, the experience of adjusting to his flatmate's anxieties coming to the forefront. This holiday was Marwood's idea, something to drag them out of the crummy flat and into the great Romantic wilderness. A rejuvenation, as he'd called it. Of course he'd get worked up over such an inconvenience like getting lost, it was in his nature—compounded by the fact it was the first time he'd suggested something like this, too…
This called for some interference. He needed to something radical, something unexpected, to snap him out of his thoughts and win his attention back. Something like—
Marwood jumped at the press of lips across the back of his hand, but was unsuccessful at releasing his arm from Withnail's grip.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?"
"Distracting myself—from the sensation of a fucking pig sty in my head—and you. You're about to snap with how wound up you're getting—"
"Of course I'm wound up, With', I have no idea where we are, I—" he glanced out the windscreen, and back at Withnail. "What if we get stranded out here?"
"Bollocks. If we get stranded, we'll wait until the storm passes. Give us some time to rest our minds. Then we'll continue." He squeezed Marwood's hand and met his uncertain stare. "See? Problem solved."
"Fine, but next time don't spring a kiss like that on me, will you?" Marwood grumbled, satisfied for now. "Bloody well thought you were proposing for a second."