And there goes Aziraphale, dialing up the 'angelic' to eleven and making her feel like a complete troll even though she's not even the target this time. That, combined with Spike's goddamn preternatural ability to convince himself that no one gives a shit whether he lives or dies is more than her already frazzled nerves can handle, and she has to turn away from the whole scene so they won't see her face crumple.

Spike's question drives the air out of her lungs, the sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He was lying there for days, and he has no idea. "It's Monday. Gods, Spike!" She doesn't want to turn around and show off what a wreck she is, but she's still plenty furious, and that, tag-teaming with indignation, overrides her embarrassment. "Do you really think it isn't our business if you die on your kitchen floor?! Do you think I want that?"