The Heart of the Bounty
A fanfiction
Chapter 6: The Vigils
I'm too timid to go see him during the day. The mere thought of seeing his scarred, masculine face in daylight unnerves me. I've restricted myself to my room and the cockpit. I cannot let Spike see this newly arisen weakness in me. It'd be enough for him to crush me further. It'd be too much for me to suffer, just staring and wondering whether he'll ridicule me or be thinking of her instead.
I've always been more nocturnal than anything. I only have the strength to see him at night. And he looks glorious at night. The way the dim lights from different corners of the room beam upon every contour of his body accentuates his broadness, his strength, his beauty. The Greeks knew how to appreciate the body; Spike's would be perfect as a model for an ancient Greek statue. His whole stature exemplified the magnificence the Greeks glorified in the human anatomy. Even in lying down, Spike knows just how to wear his shoulders, his arms, his gentle face.
Gah! What am I thinking? This newfound curiosity is forming into a dangerous habit. I feel like a stalker, just staring at Spike in the middle of the night, keeping Ein at bay so as not to wake Spike from his sweet, serene slumber. In spite of being so apart from myself, this reconnection to my romantic, feminine side rushes into my head with all familiarity. I guess it's only natural. I guess just seeing one specimen of a potential mate is enough to arouse those natural urges. It is just Spike.
The past two nights, I'd sit at his bedside for two hours, longing to touch his face, to feel the roughness and stiffness of his muscles. Every once in a while, some of his hair would fall, limping, almost touching his forehead. I'd gracefully catch these mischievous strands before they touch him, before I touch him. Slowly, each time, I'd readjust his hair, spiking it up the way he usually does. My fingers would linger there, too. I'd have urges to just run my fingers through what I now realize is soft hair. Maybe I get that urge from my disgust with my own head of hair. Yeah. That has to be it.
Each time I sit down beside him, my heart would thump harder. Not with pain, but with a sense of urgency and longing. I smile from ear to ear as I stare at his restful face, watching his lips purse as he breathes. They're perfectly positioned for … He has to be dreaming about Julia, about pressing his lips against hers, across her skin. Dammit. Maybe I should've stayed at Blue Crow.
Every time I leave his side, I hesitate. I grow tired and weary, but his presence rejuvenates me. When my head begins to droop, I muster the strength to get up. I, however, cannot ever look away, not until I immerse myself in the darkness of the halls of the ship. I do not need to see him in daylight to know that this glory is kept intact. Oh, but I long to. I both fear and impatiently await the moment he's up on his feet again. I want to end these nightly vigils, but I've grown to cherish them so quickly. Maybe when he's on his feet, I can resume normalcy. Maybe.
