Title: Wounded
Disclaimer: I own nothing, and I am getting no money
Doyle could hear what was going on
but he still felt separated from what was happening around him. Cordelia and her ministering seemed much
farther away than the agonizing pain. The ache felt like it was on top of him
crushing him under its weight. He
opened his eyes the rest of the way and watched Cordy. Keeping his mind off the fact he had a hole
in his gut was easier when he could watch her.
He tried to speak but couldn't make a sound, so he used all the strength
he could muster and put his hand over hers.
Doyle was awake. His blood saturated hand rested on
hers. He was looking at her with
distant blue eyes. They were the most
beautiful eyes she had ever seen. Where
did that come from? That was the last straw.
She had to get Doyle to the hospital.
Angel pulled up in front of
Cordelia's apartment. He could smell
the delicious scent of blood. It was
heavy in the air, his face changed to his vampireic form but he shook it
away. He hated the way that happened, a
lack of control. This was Doyle's
blood, and there was a lot of it too. That made him worried, he had hoped
Cordelia was exaggerating about Doyle's injury. Cordelia's apartment wasn't far
from Angel's and he had spent the short drive over to Cordelia's hoping it was
a wound that bled a lot superficially.
This was too much blood though.
He ran to the door and threw it open.
He couldn't see them but he could smell the blood and fear inside the
apartment, it was strong.
She heard the front door open.
"Cordelia!" She heard Angel
calling her.
"In here"
Angel walked quickly into her room. He
had seen many bad things in his long life, but he wasn't prepared for the sight
of Doyle laying on Cordelia's bed, soaked with his own blood, Cordelia pressing
on his stomach also covered in blood. He could feel the rage growing in the pit
of his stomach towards whoever did this to his friend "We have to get him to
the hospital". Without a word the
vampire scooped the bloody half Bracken off the bed. He carried his friend outside and gingerly laid him in the
backseat. The half demon looked so very
frail. Cordelia sat beside him, gently
cradling his head. Angel jumped into
the driver's seat, shifted gears, and floored it. As they drove Cordelia carefully ran her fingers through Doyle's
short black hair. He was still semi-conscious and looking at her and mumbling
something. He seemed dazed but he
continued talking, "What are you saying?"
She asked him almost frantically.
Whatever it was it didn't seem like English.
"It's
Gallic" Angel threw over his shoulder from the front seat. "He's saying 'Beautiful, so beautiful'"
They
arrived at the emergency room and Cordelia checked Doyle's pulse for the
millionth time, still barely there.
Angel scooped Doyle out of the backseat and rushed him through the doors
with Cordelia close behind him. Angel
gently placed his friend on an empty stretcher and pushed it to the desk. "My friend needs help" he urgently
requested. The nurse made an irritated
noise and looked up. Then she saw
Doyle, looked shocked for a moment then her professional manner took over.
"Doctor to
the front" she spoke into a shiny silver microphone on the cluttered desk. She gathered up several pieces of paper and
handed them to Cordelia. "Here you go
Hun, fill them out" As she was talking a young doctor came for Doyle
"Get a
surgeon, I'll be in two," he ordered the nurse as he wheeled his patient down
the hall. Angel and Cordelia watched
him go. The doctor hadn't looked nearly
as hopeful as they would have liked.
"Have a
seat." The nurse told them. They
complied and sat down in the hard orange plastic chairs. Cordelia looked at the papers in front of
her. She sighed and pulled a pen from
her purse.
"Allen
Francis Doyle" She muttered, writing it on the line. She wrote his address,
phone number, approximate height and weight.
Then the questions got hard.
"Angel, what's Doyle's mother's name?"
"I don't
know. Probably Erin or Megan
Doyle. Just pick one"
"Megan it
is. How old is Doyle?"
"This I
know, uhm, 25 maybe"
"Religion"
"Catholic"
they said together
"Is Doyle a
US citizen?"
"Yeah, he
has a driver's license that says so"
"When did
he come here?"
"He
never told me"
"Blood
type?"
" Again, No idea."
"Whose his
next of kin?"
"I think we
are. I mean his mom is in Ireland and
we are his closest friends."
Cordelia felt the tears coming again. Doyle was dying, and there was so much they
didn't know about him. Angel put his
arm around her and she let the tears fall.
A couple of hours passed. Cordelia
eventually cried herself out and fell asleep against his shoulder. Not a
peaceful sleep, she was plagued by the frozen image of Doyle leaning against
her door, and blood, blood everywhere, so much blood. Doctors and nurses hurried by but no one told them anything
about Doyle. The young doctor who had
wheeled Doyle away walked by. "Doctor"
"Yes? Oh you brought in the stab wound."
"How is
he?"
"Well" the
young man began, sitting next to Angel "We took him to surgery," Cordelia
stirred at the closeness of his voice.
She opened her eyes and listened to what the doctor had to say. "He was pretty lucky. Whoever stopped the bleeding saved his life.
We repaired the damage; the knife did nick the stomach, but missed all the
other major organs. He did loose a lot
of blood though. We've given him about
6 units of O negative, the universal donor, but he isn't responding to it as
well as we would like."
"What are
his chances" Angel asked grimly
"Well if we
can find a type specific match, and replace some of his blood that way, his
chances are very good that he will make a full recovery." Angel knew that was the optimistic way
"And if you
can't"
"Well, if
we can't get his volume up, and he continues to react to the infusions this
way, he won't pull through."
"Can we see
him?" Cordelia asked weakly. The doctor
nodded.
"First room
on your left at the top of the stairs."
They walked down the hall up the stairs and paused a second
in front of his room
