I’d suffer through the agonizing pain that it would cause me, and I’d sink my fangs into their scrawny, whiny, whimperin’ necks. I’d drain ‘em all of everything they had, and then I’d stomp on their pale remains.

Especially the Watcher and the witch.

I’ve never seen two people so smart and so bleedin’ oblivious to what’s right in front of their faces.

I mean, I’m the soulless one, right? I’m the one who’s supposed to be blinded to anything that’s good in this world, not carin’ about any of that rot. But I can see, clear as the frickin’ crystal he uses for his whiskey, when he’s tryin’ to rid himself of thoughts of her..

Hell, I’ve got to live with the rotter. I’m the one subjected to his nightmares *and* his fantasies, thank you very much, and if I hear the damn sod cry out her name one more time, I’m going to lock ‘em both in a room and not unlock the door until I hear some serious moanin’ echoin’ down the hall.

Not that she’s any better. She falls asleep here at night sometimes, when she’s waiting for the Slayer to come back and walk her home, and she tosses and turns until that pretty red hair is all mussed, then she ruins it by cooin’ his name all soft and sleepy-like.

She doesn’t even call the bastard by his real name either, although I don’t blame her. Bad enough his parents made him a Watcher; they had to name him Rupert, as well. In the throes of her teenaged passion, I imagine Giles is a hell of a lot sexier than Rupert.

So I have to sit here, listening to them sleep, hedging around their feelings even then. The damn Slayer knows how they feel about each other, and she’s about as smart as a brick. How she’s managed to stay alive is beyond me. But the fact that she’s clued in on this whole situation when they haven’t just horrifies me, not to mention doesn’t make a bit of sense

Okay, I can understand not always seeing what you’ve got when it’s right in front of you. I mean, I didn’t realize how good it was for me and Dru until after Angel came back and ruined everything…again. I owe the man my unlife, sure, but that doesn’t have to mean I want him shaggin’ my girlfriend.

Hell. I’m turnin’ into one of them.

I’m tempted, just to liven things up around here, to make a play for the little witch, see if some competition would fire the old man’s blood. But I figure all that would do is cause the Slayer to probably stake me through the heart…and a few other choice places that I’m rather fond of.

Maybe one of these nights when the Watcher ships me off to the idiot’s basement so he can fantasize in private, I’ll make a phone call and invite the little witch over to his house, pretending I’m him. Or, better yet, I’ll make her think he’s hurt, and that fear response will get her blood movin’ in the right direction.

Something’s got to be done.

I can’t handle hearin’ the two of them, tossin’ in their sleep, so close to what they want and too stupid to do anything about it.

Of course, hearing them moanin’ together probably won’t be much better.

But at least then, I might have somethin’ interesting to watch.