A.N.I hope this chapter doesn't seem anti-climactic or short or sudden. I had a little trouble with this one, but I think it turned out all right. After this, I think there's only one more chapter left, an epilogue of sorts. Thanks for all of the reads and reviews! I'm so glad you all are enjoying this story.

The entered the room and approached the bed hesitantly, unsure if Sam was awake or not. The Italian opened his mouth to say something, but Ed cut him off quickly. "Whatever you do, don't ask him if he's asleep or tell him to wake up."

Spike raised his eyebrows in question; he made a note to himself to ask about it at a later time, understanding that there was a story behind that statement. He switched tactics. "So Ed, do you think Sam's asleep?"

Ed considered the question. Sam had had a rough couple of hours and had been using a lot of energy, talking with the doctors and with Ed himself, so he wouldn't be surprised if he'd fallen asleep in the short time that Ed had been gone. Add to that the fact that he hadn't jumped in to correct Spike, and Ed would say that yes, their teammate was asleep. "I'd say he is, Spike. Tell you what: why don't you take this lovely chair here," he gestured to the deceptively comfortable looking chair he'd vacated just a few minutes before, "stay the rest of the night and get a couple good neck cramps, and I'll go home and remind myself that I have a wife. I, and the team, will be here in the morning sometime."

"Sounds like a plan. Get some rest buddy, you're looking old."

Ed glared at him, before shaking his head and heading out the door, hoping that Sam would be able to help Spike resolve his feelings of guilt.

Spike settled back in the chair, wincing immediately. "Man. Ed sat in this for how many hours and he can still walk?" His respect for the man grew. As he eyed Sam's pale complexion and slightly pain lined face, he sighed. "I suppose I shouldn't be complaining; no matter how uncomfortable I am, you are a lot worse off."

He closed his eyes involuntarily and shuddered, because for a moment, his mind went back to that split second after he'd yelled 'wait' and then heard the gunshots. He'd been sure that Sam and Ed were dead… gone… which was why he'd ignored protocol and raced out of the van and towards the building, desperate to get to his teammates. As he'd been running, he'd looked up towards the windows and seen Sam… just Sam, dangling on the end of his safety line, limp. For a moment, one single moment, he'd been glad because he knew Ed must have made it inside and at least one of his teammates wasn't going to die because of him. But then he'd realized what that meant: Sam had probably taken two armor piercing rounds and was now still in range of the sniper, and therefore out of his team's reach. The climb to the thirty-fifth floor had been the longest of Spike's life. The whole way up he had no idea if Sam was still alive, or if they would be able to get to him. The Italian had heard Greg and Ed talking rapidly, but neither of them knew Sam's status either.

The dread that had filled him as he'd peered over the edge of the broken window to get a glimpse of his injured teammate threatened to overwhelm him now. He opened his eyes and stared at Sam, reassuring himself that his friend was still alive… still breathing. The heart monitor continued its steady beep, and Sam's chest continued to rise and fall evenly. The fact that these simple things were comforting, hit Spike hard. He let out a choked sob. "God, Sam… we were this close to losing you and it's all my fault! If I'd just been a little faster with Harrison's file, or realized there might be other victims sooner, I could have prevented this!"

"For someone sitting next to a guy who's trying to sleep, you sure make a lot of noise."

Spike's head shot up and his eyes met the calm—very awake—gaze of Sam Braddock. "Hey Samtastic!" He quickly wiped the tears from his face. "I thought you'd rather see my pretty face then continue trying for beauty sleep in a place like this."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Much appreciated." He eyed the bomb expert. "Speaking of beauty sleep, it doesn't look like you've gotten much of that yourself."

"What?" Spike demanded indignantly. "You saying I look ugly?"

"No. Just exhausted."

With that simple statement, all joking left the air and a tense silence followed. Spike desperately hoped one of them would suddenly smile and change the subject, but the moment Sam's eyes met his, he knew he was out of luck.

"Spike…" Sam started.

"No Sam! Please don't! Nothing you say will change my mind. It was my fault, period. End of story!"

"Spik—" Sam tried again.

"I said stop! You almost died because of me! I can't believe I was so helpless—"

"Spike! Listen to me."

The Italian stopped.

"Are you listening?"

He nodded.

"Tell me what you just said."

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. "What?"

"What you just said, tell me."

"What do you mean? I just said what I just said." He frowned, not quite sure if that made any sense, but Sam continued as if it had.

"I know, but I need you to hear it. I'll repeat it for you: I almost died."

Spike was amazed at the calm way the ex-soldier was able to admit that.

"Know the most important word in that sentence?" San continued, voice level. "Almost. I didn't die, I almost died."

"Yeah but you almost died because of me."

"But I didn't." Sam said quietly. "The fact of the matter is that in that situation, there was nothing you could have done that you didn't do. There's no way you could have gotten Harrison's file fast enough; Ed and I were on that roof and outside that window for twenty minutes. The whole hot call lasted forty—at least up until Maclaney was detained. In the twenty minutes before we went out on the roof, were you slacking? Moving too slowly? No. I heard you. You were working as fast and hard as you could, just like we all were." He paused and smiled a bittersweet smile. "Spike, we can think forever about 'almosts' and 'what ifs' and 'I could haves…' What if my aim had been off that day I shot my friend? What if I'd just grazed his helmet or been able to see it was him? But it wasn't, I didn't, and I couldn't." Sam's gaze dropped from Spike's.

"Yeah but Sam, that was different." Spike protested. "There was nothing you could have done."

"And what could you have done?" His gaze snapped back up to meet Spike's. "Please, tell me. What could you have done? Are you honestly telling me that there was something you didn't do that caused me to be here? That caused me to be shot?!" Anger seeped into the ex-soldier's gaze and he scowled. "Because if so, I'd really like to hear what it was and why the hell you didn't do it!"

For a moment Spike was speechless. He hadn't expected this. Assurances that he wasn't at fault, people yelling at his pigheadedness, that he'd been prepared for. But with this anger directed at him, the only thing he wanted to do was stop it. "No, Sam—I, I mean—I could… I couldn't have… well, or maybe I could." He stammered, uncertain of what he was trying to say until finally it hit him: the only thing that would assuage Sam's anger was the truth, and just at that moment, Spike realized what the truth was. "I guess, I mean, there was nothing I could have done. Dammit! I'm sorry but there was nothing I could have done!" He exclaimed, fighting back the emotion that threatened to close his throat.

Just like that, Sam's face cleared and he smiled. "Good. I'm glad we're on the same page."

"Uh… excuse me?" Spike asked, flabbergasted.

"I know that there was nothing you could have done, and now I know that you know that there was nothing you could have done. That's not what's bothering you—not what's really bothering you—what's really bothering you is that it was out of your hands. And trust me buddy, that's what's bothering all of us."

Spike sat there in silence for a moment, staring at his hands and stewing over what Sam had said. Gradually a sense of acceptance—and, not peace, but something close to it—settled over him. "Okay." He looked up and smiled for the first time since this mess had started. "You win."

Sam sat back in relief and let his eyes close. "Of course I do. I always win."

Given the circumstances, Spike decided to let that comment slide.

"Heads up," Sam muttered from his somewhat prone position on the hospital bed, "I think I'm falling asleep here. All that heart to heart stuff wore me out."

The Italian laughed. "That's all right buddy. You've earned the rest. I'll be here whenever you wake up again, and the rest of the team's coming in the morning."

Sam would have replied, probably with a witty retort of some sort, but he'd already drifted into an exhausted, healing sleep.