PATIENT (1/1)
Willow heard the bell and frowned, counting to ten before she said something
she might refuse. Finally, she said, "Spike, I'm right here. You don't
need
to ring the bell when I'm in the same damn room."
"Touchy, touchy, Princess," he said, smiling slightly at her spunk.
He was
laying on her sofa on a makeshift bed they had arranged nearly six
days
before when he had first come to stay with her. He had been sick nearly
a
week now, but was finally starting to feel better. He had no idea how
humans
could deal with getting sick like that so often. He saw her lips tighten
at
his taunt and almost laughed. He remained silent though, knowing that
if she
believed him to be feeling better, he'd be out on his ass faster than
he
could fathom.
"What do you need Spike?" she asked, noticing the mischief in his eyes
and
realizing that he must be feeling better. She still didn't understand
how he
had gotten sick. It had clearly proved to be a case of the old fashioned
flu
bug, which confused even Giles. Needless to say, the past week had
tested the
feelings she had for Spike, making her doubt her sanity at times. She
was
beginning to wonder why she was in love with him, listening to his
constant
whining and griping and pouting. But, then, he'd go and ruin it all
by saying
something so wonderful that she would just look at him, or he'd smile
and her
heart would stop. The past week had been a test, sure, one that her
heart had
passed with flying colors. She was head over heels in love with him.
"Interesting question, pet," he mumbled, his no longer fevered mind
coming up
with many scenarios, all involving her naked and longing underneath
him. No,
scratch that, some had her above him, he thought with a smile.
"Spike, I'm tired and very impatient," she warned, tapping her foot.
"Nagging wench," he said with amusement, pushing the blanket under his
arms.
"I'm hungry, luv."
"For blood or substance?" she asked, glad that he was starting to get
his
appetite back finally. For two days, he had not been able to hold anything
down. That must mean he was getting better.
"What are you gonna have?" he asked, his eyes watching her carefully
as he
ignored the chattering from the television.
"I thought I'd make a sandwich and some soup," she said with a shrug.
"That sounds good," he nodded. "With crackers."
"Of course with crackers," she said, rolling her eyes. "Are you feeling
any
better?"
"A bit," he muttered, coughing to make her believe he was still sick.
"Still
tired and weak."
"You'll need to stay in for a couple more days," she decided, noticing
with
curiosity the large smile that spread over his face at her words. She
tucked
away that image to think about at a later time as she went into the
kitchen
to make dinner.