He wasn't well and it was rather obvious once one got a good look at his face. But he wasn't able to stay inside, to rest weather he wanted to or not. Maybe Buffy was right, that he should just stay in bed. He nearly died and he didn't remember-that couldn't have been a good sign. He was so far gone the night Buffy dragged him back to the hotel his memory was faded. And what did that mean? Nothing good. Still, the apocalypse was on them. The hotel was going through hell and chaos, as if he could just lay in bed when he was needed.
Still he paid attention the best he could with his vision swimming every now and again, his chest still bandaged made it hard to wear the uniform-but he had too. Pure habit decided that he had too since the world was ending. Or rather felt like it was. But then Kira was singing to him and tired eyes rested on hers. A tiny smile curved into his lips and right then, it was worth it. Everything he was doing. To protect her, keep her safe and live on the vague hope that when he came back from Wolfram and Hart he could hear her sing all over again. If he came back.
At least this was one time he decided against the liquor. It was a bad idea last time, and now that he felt queasy with pain already it would probably have floored him. So when a waitress came he waved a hand and she went away again, his attention was back on his sort-of-girlfriend.