Uncanny, Vicious' gaze is level with Spike's the moment his eyes are open - there's no sense that he was waiting, staring, yet there's no sense it was a startling accident, either. It just is; Vicious doesn't seem like he'd spaced out, but he also doesn't seem like he'd become impatient. It's as if Vicious had just sat down, and Spike came to attention exactly when he wanted him to. Schrödinger's boredom.

... But because it's Spike, he'll know it's nothing unearthly; it's just Vicious, and his utterly unmysterious and unlikable inability to pace himself like a normal human being.

He tilts his head. Someone else might have, facetiously, asked if Spike was lonely.

"As usual," and his voice is still that same old, cracked, dark, rusted sound, "I have more productive things to attend to than you do."