RATING: R-ish, I think.
PAIRING: S/X
DISCLAIMER: Joss owns them. I’m just playing in his sandbox. No money made. Ever.
SUMMARY: Spike thinks… a lot. And worries even more. Then doesn’t. Spike's POV

Third in theReflection series

Patient and Not

by
Tisienne Blue

Bloody hell!

And for fuck’s sake, that’s not even a strong enough phrase this time!

Bloody fucking hell!

I’m not Xander Harris’s sodding wife, am I!

Not his bloody useless little fuck, either!

So why the bloody hell does he insist on leaving me here at his boring bloody flat all day while he goes and does… whatever the bloody fuck it is he does every day?

And yeah, it made some sort of sense in the beginning when he was all ‘you’re just back, Spike… you should rest up. Recover, right?’. But that was more than a week ago and I’m as bloody well-rested as any former-vampire-who-burned-to-save-the-world-TWICE could ever be, but still he goes away every morning and leaves me alone for hours!

And yeah, I suppose I don’t much care about exactly what he’s doing. Something boring and stupid for the bloody Watchers, I’ll bet. Something that keeps him from being here, which is where I thought he’d be now that we’re all… intimately acquainted with each others’ bits and bobs.

I almost want to smack myself for the way I’m feeling.

When the fuck did I go getting so bloody needy and clingy?

It’s like I don’t know how to be me without him here to remind me.

Or maybe it’s more that I don’t know how to forget that I’m not me anymore without him here to make me forget.

Bloke thinks I’m daft, he does.

Thinks I don’t know what being human again means.

I do, though. Know exactly what it means.

Means I get to stand in the rare bit of sun that shows here in jolly olde.

Means I can stand under the spray in the shower and yelp when the water’s too hot.

Means I can take a wee jaunt down to the corner store at high noon, or spend an hour listening to my own heart beating… means I can revel in the small pains of paper-cuts and stubbed toes.

Means I can gasp and groan and shiver beneath him when he’s filling me up so right and true, and means I need a light on so I can watch his face when I’m doing the same to him.

Never asked to be human, aside from the time I was fighting with Poncy the Wonder-Git over his bloody Shanshu, but now that I am?

Mostly don’t mind it. Much.

Yeah, I know. I should be all disgusted about the bodily functions and such, but truth is… I may not have experienced them as often while I was the Big Bad, but I always did like human food, and as a result… well, let’s just say I dealt with the repercussions.

So now that I’m bloody well human again, I suppose I can deal, as my bloke says.

Or I’d be able to if I knew what the bloody fuck was going on!

Boy gets calls at all hours of the night and he slips off without a word. And yeah, he always thinks I’m asleep, but would it kill him to try waking me?

And those nights when he leaves, I… well, what the fuck else would I do? I lie awake and stare at the bloody ceiling, wondering if it’s another lover he’s gone to see, or if maybe there’s a demon or some such… and whether he’ll ever be coming back.

I remember him, don’t I?

Remember his bumbling, foolish ways.

And if he’s still going out there—with one bloody eye!—and trying to fight, then… what the bleeding fuck is going to happen to me when he doesn’t make it back? Because even his luck has to run out sometime, and chances are, it’ll be sooner, rather than later.

I’d love to think I’m worried because I don’t technically exist anymore, but I can’t lie to myself that much.

I’m worried because he’s out there.

Day or night, he’s out there doing whatever it is he does… and he leaves me here to wait and wonder what the bloody fucking hell is going on!

So, yeah. Guess I’m feeling a bit hurt.

Wouldn’t have before this latest turn of events, but there it is.

Human. Souled. And clearly far too emotional for my own peace of mind because every time he walks out the door, it feels like a part of me dies.

That it comes back to life when he comes home again doesn’t matter. Much.

And then there’s the thing that really frightens me.

I like it here, trapped feelings aside.

I like the flat and I definitely like the bloke I’m sharing it with.

And it’s been nine days, and…

Okay.

Haven’t been dragged off by some Neanderthal-browed ‘Warrior’ yet, but it could happen any time! And Xander… Xander doesn’t seem to care at all.

‘I wouldn’t worry about it,’ he said when I finally told him about the Voices and exactly what they’d said.

Doesn’t say anything else. Just that.

‘I wouldn’t worry about it.’

And maybe I wouldn’t if I were still a demon, but… how can I not dwell on the knowledge that someone—or something—could just show up and claim me? The voices did say that I was what the ‘Warrior’ wanted, and…

Oh, bloody hell. Yet another endless cycle of ‘what-if’.

So I try to shake it off.

I go to that corner store for milk and bread and they seem to be getting used to me because the man behind the counter almost smiles when I gaze longingly at the display of cigarette packages behind him.

“You would like some, no?” he says in his accented English and I almost nod before I remember. Human now.

“Nah, mate,” I tell him, eyes still locked on my old brand, “Quit a coupla years back. Be a shame ta start again, yah? Considerin’ cancer an’ all..” Not to mention the way I’m sure Xander’s eye would go looking all disappointed in me.

“Could go for a Cadbury Flake, though…” I consider. “Make it two.”

Am I planning on bribing the truth from my bloke with chocolate?

Well, yeah.

Because I’m not his wife. Not even his girlfriend, if it comes to that.

I’m just some randomly human bloke who appeared in his flat one day and let him have his way.

The fact that ‘his way’ was exactly what I’d wanted—still want—is irrelevant because what I want even more is…

Truth.

He can tell me the bloody truth for a change. Starting with why none of the other Scoobies, as they call themselves, has even bothered to ring me.

I thought we were friends, sort of, there at the end in Sunnydale… but not even the Bit has bothered to so much as give me a phone call.

Or maybe he’s the only one what can stand me now.

After all, some of the baby Slayers still died. So did Anya, and I hope she’s in whatever Heaven vengeance demons can claim.

Still, people died, which means I wasn’t fast enough; didn’t give myself soon enough.

And I suppose the same can be said for my time in L.A., can’t it?

Even as a vampire with a soul, I was never good enough… so why did I ever think being just a human with a soul would be any better?

I’m still just what I was then, after all.

Unworthy.

~*~*~*~*~

I have no idea of what happened when I walked into the flat.

I don’t remember saying or doing anything unusual.

I put the milk away; put the bread on top of the refrigerator because that’s where Xander likes it, and…

And I don’t know.

I didn’t hear him, didn’t smell him.

But I can’t do either of those things as well as I used to, so maybe that makes sense.

All I know is…

There’s a long, hard body pressed tightly to my back and big, strong hands are running roughly up and down my chest.

My nipples are hard as rocks because he knows exactly how to tweak them, and… oh, Xander’s horny.

He must be, because I can feel his denim-covered cock pressing against the top of my ass, and it’s only now that I curse the couple inches he has on me in height.

Okay… maybe I’ll bribe him later.

Then he groans and I feel his teeth digging hard into the top of my shoulder, and…

Yeah. Definitely later, I decide, pressing back into the nearly desperate grasp and rock.

And suddenly I’m sure that whatever those late-night calls are about, they’re not some other lover wanting his attentions.

No, he’s too bloody needy for that, and while it’s a load off, it makes me that much more determined to figure out what he is up to.

Still… later.

The End

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