Author's note: So...this was supposed to be a one-shot but, as always, it's developed into something a bit more. It's going to be a bunch of drabbles together, all from Spike's point of view. I'm going to try and make it ship-neutral...although I mean this in terms of "true love" point of view. Spike's a man, after all – and what's he supposed to do when so many beautiful women find him attractive? Anyway, I hope you like this. I actually got the idea for this story when I was messaging Cassandra about other random stuff.

I don't own Cowboy Bebop. Alas.

His Personal Nuisance

Spike could feel his eyebrows twitching with irritation but seemed wholly incapable of stopping it. Various scenarios were playing in his mind – ones where he throttled her, ones where he slapped her, ones where he pulled her hair, ones where he boxed her ears, but none of them would come into existence unless she woke up.

He was watching her as she was lying in front of him, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. He leant forward, just to check (again) that she was breathing. She was breathing. It didn't provide him much comfort though. God knew how that guy fucked people up and fucked their minds up. Maybe she would never wake up?

He frowned and forced his mind back into thinking of the different ways he would punish and torture and torment Faye. It was what he did best. And he had to admit, tormenting Faye had been his highlight ever since he had met her – a secret pleasure he didn't admit to himself; or hadn't admitted to himself, until today.

He bent over her again, this time placing two of his fingers along the side of her neck. Her pulse was faint but steady. Did it seem fainter than before or less faint? He wasn't sure. His eyes inadvertently went towards the various screens where that twit had been – brainwashing idiots and killing them. Idiots like Faye. And you couldn't find a bigger idiot anywhere, really, could you? He went through the numerous people he had met in his life. He remembered the people he had met in his syndicate days, when Vicious was his friend. He remembered the people he had met since he began bounty hunting. Nope – he couldn't think of a single person that was a bigger idiot than Faye.

His feet were tapping a nervous tattoo now and it was further exacerbating his short temper. As if it wasn't bad enough that he had to ask a bunch of morons about this leader guy, he now finds a Faye who may or may not be catatonic. This was enough to piss off a saint, so what chances does a mere mortal have of not strangling the wench that put him through all this? He scowled at the oblivious Faye, eyes wondering to her neck and visualising his large hands surrounding it and squeezing it until he made her stop acting like such an idiot. Who the hell was this reckless anyway?

His fingers now joined his feet in tapping out the nervous rhythm – the angry rhythm - as he sat there, unable to think of anything he could do at all. He had a feeling neither Jet nor Faye would be amused if he tried to slap her awake. He didn't think it would work either...but how much harm would it do to try it? His stern face lightened as his frown disappeared into a forced smirk. He, yet again (damn wench), leant over Faye and brought his hands to her face, intending to slap her cheeks. His eyes scrutinised her face closely, a little curiously, wondering what really went on behind Faye's mask. He looked at her eyes but they told him nothing. He went over her cheekbones – they weren't very prominent and they lacked her usual blusher. Her nose was dainty – it made her look like a child really. Her lips were relaxed for once, lacking her usual pout or smirk or grimace, and he found that her lips looked really rather tragic. They drooped downwards naturally, her thin lips accentuating this downturn, and he found himself wondering just how happy Faye really was. He knew that there had been something a little off-beat about her lately, and he had an uncomfortable feeling, which he usually successfully ignored, that it had something to do with Vincent. He brought his hands to her cheeks, more softly than he had intended. Nothing happened. He thought another slap couldn't hurt...that much.

He knelt down properly now, beside Faye's unconscious figure. He sat on his heels, observing her and wondering what to do. His plans to torture and kill Faye were put on hold for now. He watched her jaw line – very strong, very powerful. And her chin was definitely mulish and obstinate. Even when she was sleeping, it seemed to jut out aggressively and challengingly. The woman was Trouble, with a capital T. In fact, now that he thought about it, she wasn't really a woman. She was more of a girl, really – silly, immature, wearing make-up to look cool, wearing skimpy clothes to feel grownup. She had high heeled boots to add to the whole effect of a girl trying to dress like a grownup. She failed miserably at it, too. Who'd think she had any sense or intelligence when they saw her? Nobody with a brain cell, that's who. In fact, he would bet that Faye was gullible enough to fall for every lie, line and story she was told by any guy who wanted her. He looked at her face as a whole. He had to admit...grudgingly...that a lot of guys would want her. He sighed. Women were trouble in general, but this one was more trouble than the average. His lips twitched up at the ends. She was above average in many ways...with her big mouth, the number of insults she knew, how fast she could turn from innocent angel to terrifying demon. Average really wasn't a word you could use or associate with Faye.

He sat back on the chair he had previously occupied. He looked at her face as a whole now, admiring how symmetrical it was and cursing how much trouble its beautiful symmetry brought him. His eyebrows went down, making his face seem harsh and severe, cruel. There was a faint pink tinge at bottom of her chin, right in the centre. He saw the trail of the fading scar travel down her neck, in an almost perfectly straight line, and he saw the line disappear under her clothes. He drew his eyes away and forced himself to ignore the rising bile in his throat. God, the woman was a bitch, but he didn't want anything that horrific to happen to her. His eyes went to her again. He felt new admiration for her, new respect for any woman who could come out as a full blown bitch with attitude after undergoing anything like...

He left the thought unfinished. If truth was told, he was a coward really. He didn't like facing unpleasant facts or ideas that were uncomfortable. He hadn't liked the idea that Faye may have loved Whitney. He didn't like the idea that Faye may have suffered something horrific that was left unimagined and would never be thought of again...hopefully. Funny that he hadn't noticed it when he was visualising himself strangling her. He had a feeling that there was a lot he missed when he was angry...or maybe he just willingly turned a blind eye? Faye was a lot more complex than he would ever comprehend. He knew and accepted that.

He scrambled forward. He thought he had seen a pause in her breathing. For just a second, her breathing had hitched; he was sure of it. He watched her chest rise and fall, before turning to her face. He leant into her face, centimetres separating them, and he felt the reassurance of her warm breath on his skin. Damn woman was such a nuisance.

He stood up and sat in his chair again. God knows how many times he had shot out of his chair, worried that Faye was dying or something, and that damn woman had the temerity to remain unconscious, looking peaceful and even slightly happy, at times. His lips formed a sulky pout and his eyebrows came together over the bridge of his nose. Damn woman was a – an annoying, reckless, selfish, self-centred, inconsiderate, crazy bitch of a girl pretending to be a woman AND she had a shrill voice, on top of all that. She was nothing short of a pest, a nuisance, a problem that should be gotten rid of as soon as possible.

His breath caught in his throat as he thought he saw her moving. Yes, she was definitely stirring now. About time she woke up! He wondered what to do once she was up. Throttling or slapping? Both had pros and cons, and he wasn't sure he had enough time to weigh them up and make up his mind.

She looked up heavy eyed and turned her gaze on him, green eyes lethargic and her movements sluggish. She made an inane comment and he found his face relaxing into a smile. What else was he supposed to do really? He couldn't get rid of her. He didn't want to get rid of her. What would he do for his entertainment otherwise? She was a nuisance – no question about that. But damn it all! She was his personal nuisance!

Author's note: What do you guys think? Please point out any typos or grammatical errors or any criticisms you have. I don't think this is as good quality as the other stuff I've uploaded for CB because this was written in the middle of the night. It's supposed to take place in the episode of Brainscratch, when Spike is watching over Faye until she wakes up. I hope you like it.