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Xander's blood is on Giles' clothes. Beneath his nails. Xander's viscera, rent asunder by the explosion, stain the man's thoughts.
As he waits for news about Xander's prognosis, Rupert Giles realizes that he has become intimately acquainted with Sunnydale Memorial Hospital. He doesn't want to know its halls like the back of his hand. Would prefer to not be able to, without thinking, find his way to the Emergency Room, where Xander is being operated on. Alas. Beggars can't be choosers.
He hopes beyond hope that the boy will be all right. Until then, he can do nothing but wait.
