Shortly before we reach Albuquerque, Jet pops the surprise.

"No. I'm not wearing that, Jet. Forget it," I state, crossing my arms over my chest.

"It's the only way," he says, still holding the black fabric out toward me. "Stone's got himself locked away in his impenetrable fortress and he's not letting anyone else in."

"Fortress?" I repeat, intrigued despite myself.

Jet sighs. "His house, but it's so heavily guarded that no one can get in unless he allows it. He's got some state of the art equipment, so Ed says."

I glance at her but she's typing away at the computer, ignoring us all.

"I don't care, Jet. One of you can wear it."

Jet turns to Spike, his expression clearly saying 'Talk some sense into her, won't you?'

Spike grins widely. "Wouldn't that be a picture! Then again, I could use the five hundred woolongs for getting to him first, since you'd be backing out."

I snatch the clothes from Jet and stamp my foot in frustration. "Oh, you two planned this, didn't you? You set me up. Fine, I'll wear the damn thing!"

As I storm to the bathroom to change, I hear Jet ask, "What's she talking about?" and Spike's answering laughter.

"Oh, nothing really. Just a bet we made."

Five minutes later, I march back into the living area, my expression mutinous. Jet chokes back a laugh and I glare at him.

"This was your damn idea, so don't even say it," I snap, causing his shoulders to shake even harder. "Oh, for God's sake."

Spike smirks up at me from his seat on the yellow couch. "I didn't think nuns were allowed to say that."

"I am not a nun," I growl through gritted teeth.

"You're dressed like one, so you'd better start acting the part," he grins, enjoying this entirely too much. I move forward, fully prepared to smack him one, but he just drawls, "Uh uh. Remember your vows, Sister."

Jet intervenes, handing me a worn leather bible and a rosary. I take them reluctantly, wondering where he came up with them. "You didn't mug a nun, did you?"

He chuckles, shaking his head. "I found them in a second-hand shop. Dirt cheap too, but I guess most people wouldn't want to wear a nun's habit."

"No wonder," I gripe, scratching my side. "The damn thing itches."

He moves to the navigational unit and takes a quick look. "We're here. You'd better get out there."

Spike and I leave our ships a few blocks from Stone's 'fortress' and check out the area. There's a bar almost directly across from the entrance to the bounty's house, so Spike saunters over under the pretense of waiting for a friend to join him. When he's in place, I re-adjust the habit and and stride purposefully toward Stone's front door.

There's a small camera mounted on the door frame, and I'm not surprised when a static-y voice answers my knock.

"Yes?"

"Hello. I'm Sister... Mary Margaret. From the convent," I add helpfully, inwardly cursing my lack of knowledge on all things religious. I hear the lock release and reach for the doorknob.

Before I can touch it, a distinctive split second of sound catches my attention-- the lack of sound. A vacuum. Oh fuck.

I jerk back and the whole world shatters.

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Drifting drifting drifting...

Voices. Low, can't understand them. Hurts.

Drifting.

Bright. Don't like it. Pressure. Pain.

Drifting.

Voices again. Eyes won't open. Heavy. So tired.

Darkness.

Light again, not so bright. Jet. Hi Jet. Tongue won't work. He speaks gibberish.

Drifting.

Jet again. Cool water. Sleep.

Pain. I open my eyes slowly. Everything hurts. I try to turn my head, but I can't. Someone's holding my hand, but I can't see them.

Drifting.

Voices. Jet and Spike. "... change... will she... bad... stay... bomb... falling..."

Darkness.

Better now. I ache, but I can turn my head. Jet again. My mouth is parched. I try to ask for water, but it comes out as a moan. He holds a glass with a straw to my lips.

"Enough?" he asks quietly.

I try to speak again, and my voice is raspy. "Thanks," I manage.

"How bad is it?"

"Hurts."

He injects something into my arm. "Sleep now. We'll talk when you wake up."

Darkness.

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I drift into consciousness and immediately regret it. Everything hurts. Badly.

I shift a little, trying to get more comfortable. Oh, big mistake. A million red hot particles explode throughout my body. I can't stop the whimper that escapes my lips.

"Try not to move. You're still bad off."

I turn my head toward the voice. Spike's sitting in a chair next to the bed, gripping my hand. I look at him, our joined hand, then his face again, but he doesn't let go.

"Oh, Gods, I'm dying, aren't I?" I ask, panicked.

A smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "No, you're not dying, but you gave a damn good show of it."

I try to remember, but everything's fuzzy. It takes a few moments for clarity to return. "There was a bomb," I gasp. "I remember trying to move, but it was too late."

He nods, confirming my fears. "There was a quarter pound of C4 wired to the lock. You're damned lucky you were on the right side of that Kevlar door."

"Stone?" I inquire.

"Dead. The whole damned house exploded. You've got some burns, but the worst of it came from catching a four hundred pound door with your body." His thumb brushes over the top of my hand. "I thought... well, I'm just glad Stone was paranoid enough to install something that could withstand an explosion."

His arm is propped on the bed, and there's a long red gash down it. "What happened to your arm?" I ask.

"Oh, that," he grins self-consciously, "I made friends with a piece of shrapnel."

I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously. "You didn't wait for the shit to stop falling, did you?"

He stares at me in disbelief. "No, I didn't. Should I have sat back and had a beer before checking to see if you were still in one piece?"

"You could have been seriously hurt," I protest. "That was stupid!"

He tightens his hold on my hand. "Damnit, Faye! You wereseriously hurt. It scared the shit out of me when you went flying backwards. I thought you were fucking dead." He turns his head away from me, but not before I see the guilty expression on his face.

Damn it all. He's beating himself up because I got hurt, and then I yell at him for getting me out of there. That hurts more than the injuries. I feel tears forming in the corners of my eyes and there's nothing I can do to hide them.

"Hey," he whispers, leaning over me. "Don't cry. Shit. I'm sorry, Faye, just... don't cry, ok?"

"I... I..." I sniff, trying to stop the tears from falling.

He runs his hand through his hair, agitated. "Please, Faye, I didn't mean to get angry. I don't know what to say."

I bite down on my bottom lip as he hands me a tissue. I try to lift it to my face, but it hurts too much to move my arm. He takes it from me and wipes my cheeks gently.

"I'm sorry, Spike. I didn't mean to get chastise you. I just didn't want you getting hurt on account of me," I say when the tears are gone.

"Don't worry about it," he says. "Are you hungry?"

As soon as he mentions food, my stomach rumbles loudly. I give an embarrassed grin and he chuckles. "I'll be right back," he promises, removing his hand.

He returns with a small tray. "Tea and chicken noodle soup," he announces. He places it on the nightstand and helps me sit up. I try to mask the grimace of pain that crosses my face, but he sees it and apologizes anyway.

"How am I supposed to eat?" I grumble. "I can't even move my arms."

He looks from my face to the bowl. "I'll feed you, I suppose."

I smirk at him to cover my embarrassment. "Really? Where's your little white nurse's hat?"

He gives as good as he gets. "You know, this soup does look really tasty. And I am very hungry."

I try to snatch the bowl from him and am rewarded with more pain for my efforts. I hiss between my clenched teeth as he instantly turns contrite.

"Faye! Damn, I'm sorry. I shouldn't be teasing you. Stay still, please." He's hovering over me, looking both panicked and horrified.

"Spike! Stop fucking apologizing! I'm the one who moved. Just give me some soup already."

I feel like a child, opening my mouth each time he holds the spoon to my lips. Through it all, he keeps up a steady stream of conversation, saving us both from any added embarrassment. Despite my hunger, I only manage a small portion of the soup before I'm full.

"I'm surprised you managed this much. It's been a while since your last meal," he says, helping me back lie back down. Even sitting for that short time has tired me out.

Oh, damn. I didn't even think of that. "How long have I been out?" I ask.

He averts his eyes. "Four days."

"Four days! But... I thought everyone was supposed to leave yesterday."

He shrugs and moves to the dresser. "We're staying until you're ok." He picks up a bottle and tips out a pill. "Now that you've eaten, you can take some pain medication."

"I'm ok now," I argue, not knowing why. He gives me a look and says nothing.

I take the pill and close my eyes, waiting for sleep to overtake me. He flicks off the small lamp and settles back in his chair, keeping watch.

Half asleep, I murmur, "It's not your fault, you know."

Right as I drift off, I think I feel someone kiss my forehead and whisper my name.

Maybe it was only a dream.

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I wake once again to an uncomfortable pressure and mentally curse. In desperation, I glance at the chair by my bed to find Spike still sitting there. He's slouched over, asleep, and my hand is trapped by his once more.

If I didn't need a bathroom so badly, I'd lie there and analyze the action. As it is, my bladder is screaming at me, and I'll be damned if I'm going to ask him to help me to the toilet.

I wiggle my fingers cautiously to find the pain has greatly diminished. Slowly, as not to wake him, I slip my hand from his grasp. So far, so good.

Sitting up is a bit of a struggle. By the time I'm upright, I'm breathing heavily and there's sweat dripping from my brow. I move the covers aside to find that I am dressed in a large t-shirt and panties. I'm confused for a moment and then remember the nun's habit. I wonder if it fared any better than I did.

I get my legs over the side of the bed without too much effort. A bed spring creaks and I freeze, staring at the man sleeping at my bedside. He shifts a bit but doesn't wake up.

When I get to my feet, I am forced to grab the side of the bed for support. My legs feel like jell-o and my entire body is screaming at me to lie back down. I grit my teeth and take a small step, then another. I'm dizzy and nauseous, but I really need that bathroom.

Another step. One foot, then the other. I shuffle along at an excruciating pace until I reach the door to the bathroom. I close the door behind me as quietly as I can, then grip the counter, allowing it to support me until I make it to the commode.

Relief washes over me before I realize I have to make it back to the bed. I whisper a stream of curses, but it doesn't make the prospect of a trip back any more pleasant. I stand slowly, hanging on to the towel rack for added support.

It's the flushing of the toilet that does it. He doesn't even knock, just comes flying through the doorway to find me clinging to the blessed towel rack. I'm beet red but it doesn't stop him from ripping me a new one.

"You should have woken me! Shit, how bad are you hurting?"

"Ergh," I manage.

He sighs, moves towards me, then hesitates. "This is probably going to hurt. I'm sorry." He picks me up as gently as possible and carries me back to the soft, wonderful, inviting bed. As he lowers me down, he jokes, "This isn't how I imagined this moment would be."

I give a small smile as he tucks the blankets around me. "I didn't think you imagined it at all, Cowboy," I remark, foolishly pleased. He turns an interesting shade of pink and becomes very interested in the condition of my pillows. I wait until he looks back at me and then I wink.

He chuckles and settles himself back in the chair. This time, he takes my hand before switching off the lamp and I fall asleep with a smile on my lips.