Author's notes: I'm not as satisfied with this one as the others. It was hard to get the writing flowing, but once it did, it was hard to stop. Hence how long it is. I hope you guys like it. It's slightly rambley and crazy and odd but...that's Spike for you. Enjoy.

Ephēmeros

Cold Cup Of Coffee

He wasn't entirely sure how long he had been staring at it. He wasn't even sure why he was staring at it. After all, it was only a cup of coffee. A cup of coffee almost completely full up, he thought irritably. Why the hell would she make herself a cup of coffee, only to take what looked like a few sips from it? It was stupid; stupid and wasteful and selfish. And that was her all over, from what little he'd seen of her so far.

And why was she on the ship? Why was she staying with them? Who told her that she could stay with them? It was irritating, infuriating and it made him want to scream at her.

Instead, he was leaning against the yellow sofa, staring fixedly at the offensive cup of coffee. Well, that wasn't entirely true. He wasn't so much staring at the cup of coffee as at the lipstick mark on the cup of coffee. It's how he knew the cup wasn't his or Jet's…unless Jet had a fetish he hadn't announced yet. And Ed had never acted like a girl before, so why would she act like a girl now? And Ein...he paused in thought over Ein, but eventually decided that Ein was smart enough to outsmart any attempts by Faye to put lipstick on him. Besides which, the lip mark was distinctly human and not canine. So all in all, she was the culprit, he thought moodily.

She'd come in just yesterday, moving in without invitation (and, in fact, ignoring their protests!) and somehow, the whole aura of the place had changed; annoyingly so. And this atrocity that he was staring at had been the focal point of all his irritation with her moving in for the last god knows how long; this cup of coffee, almost full, cold from having been left for hours (or at least long enough for hot coffee to have become undrinkably cold) and with the red imprint of her bottom lip left there as a forever reminder that she had moved in and there was no amount of sulking, threatening, pouting or throwing tantrums that could change it.

That cold cup of black coffee pretty much described her, he thought, broodingly staring at the cup and refusing to look elsewhere. She was selfish and self-centred, wanton and a user. She's just the kind of person who would use someone else's instant coffee to make herself a cup, take a sip and leave the rest because she got distracted by a cloud or something. Of course, a cloud found in the middle of space would be a justifiable distraction but the implication remained. She was a user who had the temerity to not only make it obvious, but make it blatantly obvious that she was the inconsiderate bitch who had made herself a cup of coffee and left it standing to get wasted. That lipstick mark was a symbol. How much lipstick did she wear anyway, to leave such a perfect imprint of her bottom lip on the outside of the cup? The curve was so smooth, not a line or wrinkle that could testify to lips that were the slightest bit dry.

His lips tweaked upwards for a fraction of a moment, as he imagined lips caked with so much lipstick that there would be a permanent red trail everywhere Faye went and then he scowled returned, his eyes never leaving that damned red lip mark. He hated that he had wasted the whole morning, staring at an offensive red mark on an offensive cup of cold coffee that was still full. This was what women did. They moved in, without permission. They took over your lives, making it hell, using all the hot water, getting offended when you walk in on them in the showers and purposely doing things to piss you off and offend you. Like leaving a cup of coffee to get cold and leaving a bright red, perfectly imprinted mark, as if to mock you.

She was the worst of the kind, he thought, looking accusingly at the lipstick as if it were Faye herself. She used everyone else's things and flaunted it. She used and abused. His lips twitched fractionally upwards again. She was a user and abuser, and gods, he should not be smiling at the thought of the kind of using and abusing she might do in bed. He should not be thinking about the red stain on the cup of coffee and imagining it on body parts other than lips. He should not be thinking about the sensation of a cold cup of coffee on skin. Or a hot cup of coffee...or sensations on skin in general, not whilst staring at a cup of coffee that looked more and more dangerous as time went by. Red was most definitely the colour of hell, and not because of the fire, he decided, as he glared at the cup.

He stretched himself, yawning, his eyes never leaving the cup. Damn the wench and her stupid red lipstick and her stupid cup of coffee. Women ruined everything, like the morning nap he always had after waking up first thing in the morning. He'd come to the yellow couch – for some reason, he always slept better on the couch than he did in his own bed – and lo and behold, he'd seen that cup of coffee. He didn't have a problem with coffee; in fact, he liked it a lot, especially mornings after he'd been drinking lots. It smelt warm and comfortable and homey...except when it was cold, splashed with a red mark as an announcement from one hell of a woman that she was here and here to stay. It was insulting, that's what it was. It was done with the sole purpose of irritating him by distracting him from his usual nap and mocking him thereafter. He briefly wondered if he'd finally gone insane. He had a feeling his current thoughts sounded much like paranoia but then he remembered Faye Valentine. When it came to her, nothing could be construed as paranoia or outside the realm of possibility. She definitely had a purpose behind leaving this cup of coffee, complete with one imprint of her perfect bottom lip – one perfect imprint of her bottom lip he meant, trying to push down the faint blush in his cheeks with sheer willpower alone.

THIS was what she was doing to him! Just by moving in and leaving a stupid cup of coffee around. She was making him miss his naps by stalking a cup of coffee instead and turning his thoughts all crazy and non-Julia related. She was SATAN!

He was leaning over the back of the couch now, somewhat resembling a rat insofar as his nose was twitching as he looked suspiciously at the cup. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing but he knew that he shouldn't be caught doing it, so he turned a furtive glance to his left, his right and back to his left before leaning further forward over the back of his couch. This was stupid. He shouldn't be furtive in his own abode...unless it was after one of those nights or he was avoiding Jet making him chase a bounty...or Jet mentioning the words 'rent' and 'repair costs'. But he definitely shouldn't be acting furtive over a cup of coffee because of a lipstick mark!

He was draped over the couch now, still as clueless about what he was doing as before. So, as always with him, he thought – what the fuck, I'll go along with this and see where I end up. And following actions to his thought, he slipped over the back of the couch and lay low on the floor. He paused for a moment, his ears almost twitching with his attempt to listen for any faint sounds that could indicate any form of life coming towards him. Hearing nothing, he looked quickly to the left and right, back to the left and started crawling towards the cup of coffee warily. The stealth he used against bounties was now being used to good effect at imitating a cat prowling a slice of cheese. He briefly wondered if cats themselves felt as stupid as he did right now, and then decided swiftly that no, they didn't because even when stalking cheese, it was food – not a cup of coffee that had irritated them and stopped them from having their morning nap.

Regardless, he crept forward in his best bounter-hunter-hunting-a-bounty way, slowly, quietly, creepily and keeping an ear out should he hear anyone coming. Once he reached the coffee, he looked down at the black liquid. He could see an imprint of her top lip on the inside of the rim, now; a perfect little bow. He leant over it, sniffing it with his nose twitching. It smelt like normal coffee, so what had she objected to so much?

He turned quick, wary glances around the room, making sure they were no witnesses to his act. In one smooth, swift movement, his right hand had grabbed the cup and lifted it to his lips. He took one small sip and, coughing and gagging, he spat it out into the cup. Bloody hell, just how much sugar had she put into the cup? He kind of got why she hadn't taken much more than a sip now but hadn't she ever drunk coffee before? Didn't she know how to make a decent cup of coffee? Clearly not, he thought, looking disdainfully down at the cup before making his way back to the couch, this time to sleep.

The next morning, he woke up in his room and made his habitual way over to the yellow couch. His eyes observed another cup of coffee left on the kitchen counter with the red imprint of a perfect bottom lip but he looked away and lay down on the couch. He refused to waste his time over her wasteful habits. He lay down and closed his eyes for all of maybe three minutes before he sighed, opened his eyes and looked at the offending cup. He had a really bad feeling that he'd picked up another bad habit.

Brief thanks to the following for either reviewing or adding the story to alert or to favourite. All of this is very supportive. Kahoko; papai; SayahYagashi.