Spike was in the command room when the word came down that Buffy was being airlifted back to Wolfram and Hart. He waited to hear the extent of her injuries, then rushed to the infirmary, where everyone had already prepared the emergency room in anticipation of her arrival. Dr. Hanover, the main surgeon, entered the room. He glanced at the vampire and said, “If you’re going to insist on staying, which I’m sure you will, you’ll need to wear a mask.”

“I’m dead. I can’t carry germs.”

Dr. Hanover held out the mask anyway. “You’ll need to stay out of the way.” To one of the nurses, he said, “The Slayer donated blood last month. Did you type it?”

“Yes, we have six pints here and three more ordered from the lab in case we need it.”

Spike secured his mask and allowed a nosy nurse to strap him into a yellow gown, growling the entire time. The helicopter could be heard and he moved to the back of the room, wringing his hands with worry. Angel came in, also wearing a gown, his blue, with a mask on his face as well. He joined Spike. “What have you heard?”

“She’s alive, but unconscious.”

“Did she get the demon?”

“Does that really matter at this point?”

They both drew back as the bloody lump that was Buffy was brought into the room. Instinctively, they both lowered their masks and sniffed the air, then nodded at each other. A majority of it was the demon’s blood. Spike moved forward and pushed her sticky hair back from her face. “Bufffy?”

“Move or leave the room,” Dr. Hanover said, glaring at Spike until he moved to stand next to Angel.

“Let them work.” His own anxiety was powerful, but Angel remained as stoic as possible, then politely turned away when they began to cut Buffy’s clothing from her body. After a few seconds, he nudged Spike. “What do you think?”

“It looks like she’s okay except for her arm. It cut her to the bone.”

“Damn it. What the hell was she thinking?” Angel shook his head. “Did you know she was doing this?”

“What the fuck do you think? No! I didn’t know she was doing this or I would have stopped her.”

“You were with her! How did she-”

“I don’t know! Okay? I have no idea.”

“Good of you to admit it.” Angel crossed his arms.

“Piss off. Why are you here?”

“Moral support?”

“From an amoral asshole? I’ll pass.”

Angel didn’t say anything else for a while. Finally he said, “Is she covered up yet?”

Smirking, Spike nodded. “She’s been covered up all along, mate.”

“Dick,” Angel snapped as he turned and glanced over at the gurney. He frowned when he saw the extent of the damage. He moved forward, touching Dr. Hanover on the arm. “Will you have to operate?”

“Yes. The injury is severe and I’m very concerned about the nerves here.” The doctor pointed at a ghastly looking patch of stringy flesh. “It could have easily took her head off if it had hit just a few inches higher. Just like Miles.”

Spike walked around to the other side of the gurney and took a washcloth from the basin, rubbing away some of the blood and grime from her face. He glanced down at the IV in her hand. “Are you giving her pain medicine?”

“We’re giving her morphine.”

“And she won’t wake up while you’re slicing on her, right? If she wakes up I’ll make sure you don’t.”

The doctor smiled a little behind his mask. “No, we’ll keep her under. It should take about an hour.”

“Is there a possibility that she could lose this arm?” Angel asked.

“She’s the bloody Slayer!” Spike snapped. “She heals faster than anyone alive.”

“I think we can save it.” Hanover motioned for another doctor to join him at the head of the bed. “We need to intubate her and get this bleeding under control. Why don’t you both wait outside.”

Angel nodded and headed for the door, but Spike hung back, leaning over her and kissing her softly on the lips before the tube could be inserted. “I’m here, baby,” he whispered.

In what they all considered the ‘waiting room’, a comfortable beige room with a plasma television and plush leather furnishings, they found a frantic Dawn pacing back and forth. Colin, the young attorney that she had been seeing, gave them a pleading look and held up his hands in mock surrender. She spotted them and rushed across the room, staring from one to the other. “How is she?”

“They’re operating.”

“What!?” Dawn cried. “Oh my god. Buffy has never had surgery. Not a real surgery! Riley stitched her up a couple of times and -- how bad is it?”

They explained as best they could, then sat down together. Colin, her boyfriend, reached forward, taking her hand and kissing it. “She’ll be okay,” he told her. “She’s tough as hell.”

“What the hell was she thinking?” Dawn asked. “What was she doing? She needs her ass kicked, the fucking idiot.”

Spike stared at her, wide eyed. “Watch your mouth, ‘bit.”

“It was stupid. It was stupid *and* dangerous.”

Before Spike could reply, Angel cut him off. “Buffy has always let her heart dictate her actions. This wasn’t different. She’s going to be just fine.”

They sat in silence for a while. Spike stared at the clock on the wall, watching as each minute ticked past, his aggravation and anger growing in leaps and bounds. It *had* been stupid and dangerous. In one breath she promised him forever and assured him that she loved him, but she still had an uncanny ability to cut him out of her life in the moments when she should lean on him. He had taken it in stride for the last time. If she survived, he would make damn sure she understood what they could lose.

After an hour and ten minutes, Spike stood and headed for the door. “It’s been too long.”

The door opened, however, and Dr. Hanover entered. He motioned for Spike to join the others and sat next to him across from Angel. “Spike was right about her healing abilities. Once we began working on the tissue it seemed to fuse back together before our eyes. The damage was intense, but I feel it’s safe to say that the extent of it doesn’t come close to what we feared. It took quite a few stitches and we’ve given her plenty of blood to compensate for the loss she suffered. She’ll need a while in recovery and then she should be fully awake.”

“I want to be there when she wakes up.” Spike stood and left the room without a backward glance. He had a few things to make very plain to the Slayer.

~*~

“Spike?” She moaned, trying to flex her arm which was heavily bandaged and throbbing severely. “Spike. Hurts.”

Spike gently caught her arm, easing it back down to the bed. He brushed her messy hair off her face and kissed her softly on the temple. “Don’t try to move it, love.”

Her eyes fluttered open and she found his face, trying to focus and make sense of where she was and what had happened. The worry on his handsome features added to the guilt she already felt. Little by little, the pieces of the day began to fit and she squeezed her eyes closed again, shaking her head. The tears came, hard and fast. She sat up, despite his attempts at keeping her on her back and wrapped her good arm around him. His embrace calmed her somewhat. She sniffled and leaned back, looking into his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Everything he had felt the entire day was renewed in that instant. She was sorry and it didn’t make a difference to him. He was furious at her. “Damn you, Buffy, you better be,” he ground out between clenched teeth.

His comment caught her off guard and her eyes filled with tears again. “I had to do it.”

“You bloody well did NOT have to do it. You could have died. Do you understand that? Do you care?” Without thinking, he gripped both of her arms and she cried out. He swore and slid off the bed, putting several feet between them because he didn’t trust himself not to shake her until her teeth rattled. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?! Then how can you be sorry?” Spike yelled. He stalked back to the bed and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “All you had to do was ask me and I would have helped. I would have been there.”

“I needed to do it myself.”

“What about what I needed?” He let her go and turned away from her, shoving his hands in his pocket to keep from throttling her. “You think Miles was just *your* friend? You think you’re the only one who cared enough to want a piece of that demon?”

“You’re pissed because you didn’t get a piece of it? Whose fault is that?” she yelled, bursting into fresh tears. “You didn’t send him out there! I did!”

“I told you to!”

“It’s not the same!”

“It’s no different!”

“I don’t want to fight with you.”

“You know I’m right.”

“It was something I had to do alone. Maybe you don’t understand -”

“You want to be alone? I can leave.”

Buffy cried even harder, choking out, “Why are you doing this? Why are you so mad at me?”

“Because you scared the hell out of me!” He turned and glared at her, ready to yell at her for an hour, but it was Buffy and he couldn’t. She had her face buried in her one good hand and she seemed so fragile, so beaten, that he went to her. He pulled her against his chest and held on tight. “Don’t ever do it again, Buffy. I swear if you do-”

“Don’t say something you can’t take back.” She sniffled and looked up at him. “And don’t be mad at me for doing what I’m supposed to do. I mean, Slayers always fight alone.”

“You didn’t go out there as a Slayer. You went out there as a friend. Don’t confuse the two and don’t pull the damn Slayer card every single time you do something stupid.”

Any response that she could utter died in her throat when the door opened and Christine walked into the room. At barely five feet tall, she was one of the only people Buffy could claim to have a couple of inches on. Her dark hair was pulled back into a pony tail and her face was pale, her eyes red and puffy. The sweater that she wore dwarfed her and was easily recognizable as one of Miles’ sweaters. She drew herself up to her full height and stared at Buffy. “I was planning to come in and yell at you, but I could hear Spike handling it. You did very well,” she directed at Spike. To Buffy, she added, “You deserved it.”

Spike stood, giving Christine a quick hug and speaking to her in a low voice. He turned back to Buffy, his face hard and unreadable as he said, “I’ll be back later.”

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, but he was out the door before she could say anything at all. She glanced over at the other woman, but quickly looked away, unable to meet her eyes. The seconds crept by and neither said a thing. Finally, Buffy said, “Are you okay?”

Christine moved closer to the bed, staring at the bandages, reaching out to touch the IV in the back of Buffy’s hand. “They said they operated.”

“They did.” Her voice was hoarse from the amount of crying she had done that day and it hurt from where the tube had been inserted. She cleared her throat, not sure what to make of the topic change. “I wanted to tell you that-”

“I already know, Buff.” Christine sat on the edge of the bed and took Buffy’s hand in hers. “It’s okay.”

“You don’t hate me?”

“You’re an idiot.” The dark haired girl smiled sadly. “The only thing I hate you for is trying to get yourself killed. We’ve had enough death to last forever.”

“I know,” Buffy replied.

Christine was silent for a while, then she said. “When are they letting you go?”

“They haven’t been in to talk to me yet.”

“Well, if they let you go in time, I’d like for you to be a pall bearer.”

Her eyes were as wide as saucers as Buffy processed the request. “A what?”

“You’ll have to use your good arm for it, but it’s only right that you’re involved. Miles would have -” Christine suddenly broke down, sobbing hysterically. “liked that. He would have wanted you to do it.”

Buffy hugged her with her good arm, unable to think of anything at all to say that would make it better.