[ she gives spike that second; waits to hand off the cup she cradles in her hands while watching him struggle to sit up. breath indrawn, urgency pressing into her spine trying to get her to move, to help him, but she remains static. everything in her too afraid to touch him, let alone assist him in drinking water. she would, if she really had to, but part of her is relieved that he wants to do it himself, ignoring how much it bothers her seeing him wade through so much pain just to ready himself, and the fact he might not want her help at all.
spike's smart mouth does wonders easing faye away from that empathy, however. behind those green eyes, she's imagining throwing the water at him and the cartoony YOW!! to follow after the cup flies out of her hand and bonks him on the head. a flittering exchange of touch pulls her from the daydream as spike takes hold of the cup, and she searches herself for the snark to match his own. ]
Fine then. Don't say I never tried to help.
[ actively trying to avoid a wall of emotion, faye backs off, though, physically, not too far—she scoots the chair closer to his bedside and takes a seat. sinks her bones into the cushions and runs a hand through her hair. tender and unkempt and unlike the faye valentine he knows. she still exists below the surface where her anger festers.
her shoulders roll in a halfhearted shrug at his question, barely registering his comment about her snoring. ]
Roughly 18 hours. Probably more. I've lost track. [ her head tilts back and she closes her eyes. ] You were in surgery a long time. The doctor came by a few hours ago to check in. Nurses say your vitals have remained steady, though sometimes your pulse and respiration rate would increase out of the blue. I'm guessing a bad dream.
[ she says it with a nonchalance that would suggest she knows about his reoccurring spell of bad dreams. lurking for too long when he was napping on the couch, always with some sense of regret, playing witness to whatever ghosts he was fighting. with a sigh, she wills herself to move, opening her eyes and lifting her head to look at him. ]
no subject
spike's smart mouth does wonders easing faye away from that empathy, however. behind those green eyes, she's imagining throwing the water at him and the cartoony YOW!! to follow after the cup flies out of her hand and bonks him on the head. a flittering exchange of touch pulls her from the daydream as spike takes hold of the cup, and she searches herself for the snark to match his own. ]
Fine then. Don't say I never tried to help.
[ actively trying to avoid a wall of emotion, faye backs off, though, physically, not too far—she scoots the chair closer to his bedside and takes a seat. sinks her bones into the cushions and runs a hand through her hair. tender and unkempt and unlike the faye valentine he knows. she still exists below the surface where her anger festers.
her shoulders roll in a halfhearted shrug at his question, barely registering his comment about her snoring. ]
Roughly 18 hours. Probably more. I've lost track. [ her head tilts back and she closes her eyes. ] You were in surgery a long time. The doctor came by a few hours ago to check in. Nurses say your vitals have remained steady, though sometimes your pulse and respiration rate would increase out of the blue. I'm guessing a bad dream.
[ she says it with a nonchalance that would suggest she knows about his reoccurring spell of bad dreams. lurking for too long when he was napping on the couch, always with some sense of regret, playing witness to whatever ghosts he was fighting. with a sigh, she wills herself to move, opening her eyes and lifting her head to look at him. ]
Want me to get the nurse?