He watched her, stood where she was by the door a moment, framed by the light that filtered in through the hall, silhouetting her in a manner that ... That what? What was he thinking, what was he even doing in that place? He had barely been able to sit up, a throbbing in his side from a removed crossbow bolt added on top of everything, he felt like he'd been starved, the ringing in his ears had still not fully subsided and there, before him, stood this blonde woman with glistening lips, and a green eyed scowl that told him she was angry. Why?

  "Don't play games." She said, alright, that's why she was angry, but he was confused and if this was a game, it was one that he - frustratingly - had not been privy to the rules to.

  "I assure you, I am not playing games." He said, palms raised briefly, his fingers splayed, a show of honesty before his hands were lowered again.

  "You 'assure' me?" The woman asked, her anger dimming slightly as she frowned at him, seeming to take in what he said carefully, so he went on.

  "Yes, that's right." He assured her, throwing back the covers of the bed and moving to the edge of the mattress, but his feet barely made it to the floor before the woman moved, and he felt himself breaking.

  "You're not at full strength yet." She told him and he felt her hands, small, warm hands, press against his shoulders, guiding him back - but with strength that had no business being in her slender frame.

  "Not at full strength, what-? Why?" He didn't understand, he felt so confused, frustrated, nothing made sense. Yet the words he'd blurted out seemed to come naturally:

  "That girl, from before... Is she alright?" The girl, the young girl who he tried to protect. Was she alright?

  "Dawn says you protected her." The woman said. He had...? The woman said, he had protected the girl. He had. He had protected her. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  "Dawn." He said, and for a moment, the woman in front of him dared to feel relief, before he spoke on:

  "That's her name, the little Bit? Dawn?" He asked, nickname slipping out, probably inappropriate, he blinked at that and tried to correct himself by straightening up some. Dawn, she had come into the room, saw him and... dropped the soup bowl full of blood onto the floor. Spoon went clattering after. He'd moved, then, when the blood had splashed on her feet, his hands reaching out to grasp hers, wanting to make sure she was going to be alright. That had been when he'd been hit with the crossbow bolt. His hand went, then, to where the new ache sat in his side, covered by bandages, care he hadn't remembered receiving. He'd instinctively moved when he'd been hit. He didn't hear the accusations being shot at him, he had put himself between Dawn and danger, making himself a bigger target, and when two more bolts went sailing for her he had caught them, mid flight, and crushed them between his fingertips. His entire focus had narrowed to protecting Dawn. He had done all that. He had been loyal to Dawn, protected her, even as the woman before him confronted him about it. She didn't seem to know what to do about him. He watched as she kneeled before him, in a manner that felt wrong. Somehow, the man felt he ought to be the one kneeling, she should be sitting up.

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  "You protected her." She said and that, that three-word sentence, that had made a wash of relief fall over. Whatever the reason, hearing those words - from her - they had meant the world to him.

  "Someone- ... there were, people who wanted to hurt her." The woman explained, and he felt himself drawn to her words, watching her intensely as she was speaking.

  "I asked you to help me, to protect her, and when she was going to be hurt, you did. You protected her." She said it again, and he tried not to let his emotions rise up to the surface, failing stupendously, as his every thought was written across each feature of him, he'd felt.

  "You fell, for her. You were hurt." The woman explained, but he didn't care. He was so utterly relieved, each ache and horrid pain was worth it, if they were alright. Suddenly, the confusion, the injury, the fight, they all held not an iota of frustration for him, because hearing that he had successfully protected Dawn made everything else seem unimportant.

  "Yeah. I can see that." He said, feeling his wit returning, even when he had little context - his charming features quipped into a look that might have been a smile, if it wasn't drenched in utter sarcasm. She seemed unimpressed with his wit however, her look of exasperation with him making that hint of a smile on his face vanish.

  "Spike, do you really not remember any of this?" She asked, a mite more sharply, though she continued kneeling; her fierce eyes looking up at him. It seemed, once again, that that had been the wrong thing to do or say, he didn't know how he was supposed to behave. He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tugging at the curls enough to ground him. He did not wish to answer, he did not want to disappoint, to let her down.

  "How... How long." He asked, instead, watching her as the ringing in his ears continued to subside. He settled on that question, then, rather than answering the one that the woman had posed.

  "How long was I..." He gestured vaguely to the room, to the bed. He waited for her to answer, imagining that he could see her weighing what she ought to reveal, or keep concealed. He could almost imagine he could hear her breathing, hear her heart beating - steady, but a little faster than it should be - as whatever had caused his body to react so miserably was evidently beginning to subside.

  "Twelve days." She said, his eyes going wide.

  "You've been here after the fall, for twelve days."