The next time he heard a sound in the hall and looked up, Angel was standing in the doorway with what looked like a laptop under one arm and a crumpled up paper bag under the other. "Hey," Angel said very softly. "How's he doing?"

"Sleeping again, but it's good for him," Spike replied, rising silently from his chair and padding over toward the door. "Lets him heal and keeps him from thinking about how much he hates being hurt."

Angel nodded, then shifted uncomfortably and asked, "What about you?"

"Can't stop thinking about how much I hate him being hurt," Spike said with a tight smile. He glanced over at Wesley, who slept peacefully, unaware of the conversation going on a few feet away. "But I'm fine."