Spike had taken over from Ed a few hours ago, in order to give the other man a break. He was glad he came in when he did because Ed seemed to be at the end of his rope. Sam had awakened six times and had yet to remember a single previous instance, and Ed was worn down from trying to get through to him and also keep him from hurting himself by accident.

Ed had given him the rundown on what to expect from Sam when he awoke, the signs to watch for: the racing heart monitor a prelude to flailing panic and confusion. To be prepared to answer certain questions preemptively, and then be prepared to answer them again once Sam opened his eyes and was slightly more coherent.

It was because he was primed for this uncomfortable experience, for the dramatic warning signs, that he almost missed when Sam woke for the seventh time. He'd been listening so hard for a dramatic uptick in the beeping of the heart monitor, that he almost missed the very slight change in rhythm. The beeping was just slightly faster now, which caused Spike to look up from the magazine he'd been listlessly paging through and look at the room's other occupant.

"Sam?" he called quietly, unsure if the other man was actually beginning to wake up.

Sam's face went from a relaxed state that could only speak of an unconscious, dreamless sleep, to a frown.

Spike rose. "Sam, you there?"

He kept one eye on the heart monitor and one on Sam's arms, prepared for one to skyrocket and one to flail, but neither did.

It was Spike's turn to frown. This did not seem to be what Ed had warned him of, and still, it seemed like Sam was partly aware, therefore he decided to play it safe.

"All right, well if you can hear me, everything's okay. The incident in the square is over. Libby is fine, we got both of the shooters, no one else was hurt, you are in a hospital after getting hurt saving Ben Gaskill's life."

He waited a beat longer, waiting for some sort of response, but when none came, slowly started to lower himself back into his chair. Still nothing. Finally, he sat, resigning himself to the fact that Sam was not, in fact, waking up. But he pulled his chair closer to the bed so that he was within an easy arm's reach of Sam. He turned his attention back to his magazine, sighing at the false alarm.

Which is why he almost leapt out of his skin when a hand gently landed on his knee.

"Holy shit!" he screeched, jumping to his feet and looking wildly towards the bed that held the sleeping occupant.

Only the occupant was no longer sleeping. Instead, Sam stared at Spike through half-lidded eyes, gaze slightly unfocused, but there. His eyes were open.

"Damn, Sam, you almost gave me a heart attack!" Spike exclaimed, glancing down at where Sam's hand now dangled off the side of the bed, as it had formerly rested on Spike's knee until he'd leapt to his feet.

Sam blinked slowly, his lips moving in what Spike thought was a "sorry," though no sound came out.

"Yeah, well," Spike fought to regain some of his dignity as he slowly lowered himself into the chair again, "I guess it's my own fault."

He looked at Sam's face, which still frowned slightly in confusion. And he remembered what Ed had said about having to repeat yourself once Sam opened his eyes, that Sam was likely trying to figure out what was going on—though it was good that Sam hadn't had such an abrupt and painful entry and hadn't almost hurt himself. "Everyone's okay, Libby's okay, we got the shooters, you're in the hospital and are about to fall asleep again, so don't worry about it, go ahead and get some more rest," he rattled off the list Ed had prepped him with.

Sam's eyes closed slowly and Spike sighed, settling back further into his chair and reopening his magazine. Until Sam's hand slowly came into view, this time deliberately slowly—not that the previous time had been fast—and settled on Spike's forearm.

Spike looked up, once more meeting Sam's eyes which were once again open.

"You… okay?" the blond asked, forming the words slowly, as if with great difficulty.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Asks the guy lying in the hospital bed with a hole in his chest and nearly a hole in his head." He took Sam's hand in his and squeezed gently. "Yes, Sam, I'm fine."

Sam sighed, body relaxing minutely. "And wh—" he tried, before clearing his throat and starting again, "who's 'Dezzie?'"

Well this was a deviation from the script Ed had painted, but Spike would roll with it, as fortunately he knew the answer. "Dezzie or Dez is short for Destiny, which is what Libby has started calling your cat. She said it was something only you would understand?" It then dawned on Spike that not only was Sam deviating from the script, but he should have no way of knowing the name Dezzie at all, as Spike had not mentioned her. Unless… "Hang on a minute, did Ed tell you about her before? You remember?" he demanded, hardly daring to hope.

Sam nodded. "Vague and fuzzy, but yeah. I was wondering why you were repeating everything, but I guess maybe that last time wasn't actually the first time I've been awake."

Spike could only stare at him, dumbfounded, because this was so clearly Sam. He remembered. He was still concerned about someone else before himself. He was analyzing things and drawing conclusions. Drawing right conclusions.

"Do you think," Sam broke through Spike's thought process, "I could maybe get some water?"

"Shit!" Spike exclaimed. The other man's hoarse voice should have had him immediately offering the beverage, but he'd been so certain Sam would just fall right back asleep. "Shit, yes! Or wait, actually, no, I can't give you water." He pounced on the call button and pressed it. "The doctors want to speak with you first and 'assess' you, so we were given strict instructions. Do you think you can stay awake for at least another few minutes? You've never made it past ninety seconds before, but if you can, they'll come in here and then you can have all the water you want. Within reason, that is," he corrected.

"Yeah, I think I can," Sam said hesitantly. "No promises though."

"No promises needed, buddy, just try your best and that will be more than enough."

Blessedly, the doctors' response time was on point that time, and people were rushing into Sam's room only moments later, while Spike was unceremoniously rushed out and told firmly that he had to wait in the hall while they ran their battery of tests. Spike took that time to call the Boss and let him know what had happened, knowing he would then pass the good news along. It was late in the evening, but Spike knew everyone would have their phones on and within hearing distance, just in case. They'd all been waiting for the call for days, hoping it would be the good call, and not one they dreaded. Spike would have enjoyed telling everyone himself, but he honestly didn't want to take that time when he could be spending it with Sam.

When the doctors filed out, Dr. Clarke stopped briefly to let Spike know that, all things considered, Sam was doing very well. There did not appear to be any cognitive impairment, and while he was sore and in pain, he was recovering better than the doctors could have hoped. He did warn Spike, however, that Sam would likely continue to slip in and out of waking, as his body was still enormously taxed and fatigued.

In fact, when Spike walked back in, though Sam had now been propped up to a semi-sitting position, his eyes were closed and Spike thought he might have already fallen back asleep, and was regretting telling Greg to go ahead and pass along the good news, rather than doing it himself. He turned to flick the light off in order to allow Sam better rest, but just then the door clicked shut behind him and Sam's eyes snapped open.

Spike smiled, glad Sam hadn't fallen back asleep yet, that is until Sam saw who it was entering his room, and his eyes flicked to Spike's left shoulder, to his arm which was still in a sling, then dropped to his own lap, all without making eye contact with Spike.

Spike stopped. Ah, damn, I was hoping we were past this. Since Sam had asked if he was okay, indicating he remembered Spike's injury, and didn't appear to have any guilt about it, Spike thought it was all good. But he hadn't taken into account the fact that the real reason Sam hadn't seemed guilty was that he'd been too foggy to really realize and properly remember his un-deserved guilt. Now that he'd had time to think about it and was more cognizant, however, apparently it had set in again. And while Sam hadn't been sitting with this guilt for ten days, since he'd been unconscious for nine of them, he had been sitting with it since last he could remember, as he'd had no opportunity to resolve it with Spike since Ed had ordered him not to visit Spike the first night after.

Which meant Sam had been sitting with his guilt for days with no outlet.

And Spike was concerned he wouldn't be able to make Sam see sense.

As he made his way to his chair by Sam's bed, he took the time to come up with a strategy, but came up with nothing.

Well, I guess we're going to wing it.

"So," he started cheerfully, not having to force false cheer into his voice and instead filling it with genuine cheer, because he was just so damn happy Sam was awake, "doctors seem pretty pleased."

Sam nodded but didn't look up.

"How are you feeling about it though?"

Sam lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug, then winced slightly as it no doubt pulled at his stitches and still healing bones.

Spike sighed, recognizing he wasn't going to get anywhere, and settled back to wait Sam out.

A few minutes of silence later, he realized his strategy might have completely backfired because between the two of them, Sam was the much more patient person. Idiot, what were you thinking?! he yelled silently at himself, forcing himself not to fidget and just continue to wait in silence. Come on, Sam… help me out here! On a normal day, there was no question Sam would outlast Spike, but Spike was desperately hoping that the enormous (though undeserved) guilt sitting on Sam's shoulders along with him being somewhat still out of it and off his game mentally given his injuries, painkillers, and just having woken up after more than a week out, would cause him to break the silence first. Because Spike had no other ideas. Prying would just cause Sam to retreat further.

Finally, his patience was rewarded.

Sam shifted slightly and cleared his throat. "Spike…" he stopped, still keeping his gaze firmly planted in his lap. "Well… 'I'm sorry I shot you' seems like a pretty poor apology for what I did, but I can't think of anything better, so… I'm sorry."

Spike pursed his lips. His instinctive reply was to disagree and declare that Sam had nothing to apologize for. While it was absolutely the truth, his second instinct told him that it would be ineffective, just written off as him pandering to the invalid. The only other path he could take was much riskier, and more confrontational, but Spike decided he had to risk it.

Knowing full well what Sam's answer would be, Spike sat back and asked, "Okay, then do you think I should apologize to you?"

Sam was startled into looking at him briefly, shock painted across his face. "What?" he demanded in confusion. "No! Of course not! What do you have to apologize for?"

"Well, I punctured your lung," he replied matter-of-factly.

Sam frowned. "Huh? When?"

Internally, Spike patted himself on the back, as Sam was taking the bait perfectly. Aloud, he explained, "On the way to the hospital, I rode along in the ambulance and your heart stopped. I ended up having to do CPR, and afterwards Dr. Clarke said that it punctured your lung."

The confusion cleared from Sam's face, replaced once again with self-condemnation. "That's different. You have nothing to apologize for; you were saving my life."

"And you weren't saving mine or Ed's?" Spike challenged, leaping at the opportunity he'd created by drawing the parallels between their situations.

Sam's mouth opened… and shut without a rebuttal. A frown slipped back onto his face again and his gaze dropped to his lap. Spike knew he'd gotten through to him at least partially, but the self-condemnation ran strong and Sam still didn't believe him, but couldn't find a way to argue back without implying Spike should also apologize.

Spike sighed. "To use your own words, Sam, you have absolutely nothing to apologize for. I understand why you want to, because I feel that same drive—because I hurt you, too—but the fact of the matter is that you don't need to apologize."

That caused Sam to raise his head again and look Spike in the eye. The look of such disbelief on his face hurt Spike's heart.

"Seriously, Sam, I'm not kidding and I'm not just saying this to make you feel better. You have nothing to apologize for, in fact, I should be thanking you." He leaned forward and captured Sam's hand in his right, reading the surprise in the other man's face, speaking to the fact he'd been so sure he'd receive condemnation. On the plus side, Spike could actually see that he was getting through to Sam, probably because it was so unexpected. "So, thank you, for saving not only my life, but Ed's life. You had an impossible choice in front of you, but you chose right. And I know how much Grayes was moving around, that it was a near impossible shot, and I'll take getting accidentally clipped in the shoulder over a bullet to my or Ed's head any day."

He'd been getting through to Sam, he'd seen it, the hope and understanding slowly creeping back into the other man's gaze, but all of a sudden Sam's face grew shuttered and his gaze dropped again, and he slowly pulled his hand from Spike's without saying a word.

Spike frowned. "Hey, don't shut down on me again, what'd I say wrong?"

"Nothing, you didn't say anything wrong," Sam was quick to reassure him.

"So then…"

"It's just, it wasn't an accident." Sam forced himself to meet Spike's gaze once more, the guilt practically pouring out of his eyes. "I knew the shot was going to clip you. I saw you enter my scope right before I pulled the trigger, and I pulled it anyway."

Spike sat back, surprised. Oh. Oh. That was not something Spike had known, nor would he have ever guessed it. No wonder Sam was drowning in guilt. It was one thing to injure one friend on accident while saving another, it was an entirely different thing to injure that friend on purpose while saving another. It made the decision Sam had made a thousand times more difficult, and it made Spike's respect and appreciation for his friend go up even more.

But of course, that's not the way Sam saw it. Instead, he was sitting there silently, waiting for Spike to start yelling, which was the last thing Spike was going to do. Instead, he grinned. "Wow, you say that like it's a bad thing, but in my book that's even better; you knew how that bullet was going to fly, where it was going to hit me, that it was just going to be a flesh wound. Remember Grayes was about to shoot Ed in the head? So, I know that made your decision even harder, because you knew you were going to hit me, but Sam…" he stopped and leaned forward, as if getting closer to Sam would convey just how serious he was, just how much he meant what he was about to say. "Sam, I trust you with my life. I trust you with Ed's life. And you knew you weren't going to kill me, but also that if you didn't shoot, Grayes was going to kill Ed. So once again, for making an impossible choice, one I'm not sure I could have made—not to mention, I wouldn't have been able to pull it off—thank you. And I'll keep saying it until you get it through that stubborn, thick head of yours that you have nothing to apologize for and deserve every thanks."

Sam closed his eyes, causing a tear to slip out. "Thanks, Spike," he whispered, voice barely audible.

"Anytime, buddy."

Spike leaned back again, giving Sam his space to recompose himself, then, to lighten the mood, looked at him slyly and asked, "So Samtastic, have you heard about the Soaring Save? No? You're gonna love it."

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A.N.2. So he's actually awake and actually back :) Hooray!

Thank you all so much for the feedback! I'm so glad you all are still enjoying the story! Just a little more to go!