The phone was ringing. It pulled Bryan out of the comforting black hole of sleep, and brought him back to reality. The phone was ringing. Slowly he opened his eyes, basking in the warmth of his blankets. The phone was ringing. He lay in a tangle of arms and legs, and he realized that not all of the arms and legs were his. The phone was ringing. His eyes fixed on Cassandra, and he smiled slowly as he remembered what had transpired the night before. The phone was ringing.
He glanced at the clock. Three goddamn o'clock in the morning! Irritated, Bryan stretched an arm out towards the reciever on the bedside stand, being careful not to upset his bedmate. He picked it up. "Yeah?"
"Excuse me, sir, is your name Bryan?"
"Yeah."
"Do you have a younger sister, sir? Tall, white hair, kinda purple-ish eyes?"
He was wide awake now. "Angel? Yeah. Who is this?"
"This is Officer Jarod Greene. I'm sorry to tell you, sir, but your younger sister has been involved in a shootout about half an hour ago. She's on her way to the hospital now."
Bryan sat bolt upright on the bed, dislodging Cassandra's arms around him, as well as a sleepy moan from her throat. He ignored her. "Is she hurt bad?"
The voice hesitated. "Yes, sir. She may not make it."
"Jesus... which hospital?"
"St. Mary's."
"...thank you. I'm on my way." He replaced the reciever on the stand and catapaulted out of bed, which promptly woke Cassandra.
"Mmm... Bryan? What's going on?"
"Angel's been in some kind of accident. She's on her way to the hospital, and I'm gonna meet her there." He rummaged through his dresser for the necessary clothing, as Cassandra sat up and wrapped herself in his sheets.
"Which hospital is it?"
"The cop said it was St. Mary's."
Cassandra climbed out of the bed and began putting clothes on. Bryan looked over. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I'm going with you."
"Why?"
She looked him full in the eye. "I'm an ER surgeon at St. Mary's. My specialty is trauma."
"What are the odds," he muttered as they dressed quickly in the pre-dawn chill.
They drove separate cars to the hospital, since Cassandra was going to go on call in an hour, anyway. White lab coat and blond hair flying, Cassandra marched Bryan through the ER doors and towards the ambulance entrance. They were just in time, and it was Bryan that spotted the bloody, silver-haired form on the stretcher rolling towards one of the operating rooms. "ANGEL!!!" he roared, and shoved through several people to reach her.
"Excuse me, sir, but you'll have to stay back-" one of the EMTs tried to say, but Bryan bodily shoved him out of the way, and planted himself next to Angel's head.
The EMT waved his hands in frustration, until Cassandra put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Frank. They're family."
"Yes, Dr. Harrelson."
Cassandra's tone was clipped and professional as she gathered the necessary details and vital signs from the EMTs. Bryan ignored all of it, his eyes never leaving Angel's face.
She was a mess. Her clothing was too bloody to tell where the wounds were. Her gleaming silver hair was filthy, and had streaks of bright red in it. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. Too shallow for his liking. His eyes examined her, and with some shock he noticed her birthday knife from Jerry clutched in her right hand. It, too, was covered in blood. It had probably saved her life, he thought, and with some effort he pried it loose from her fingers. This action brought her awake, and her eyes flew open to fix on his.
"Bryan," she murmured. Her voice was faint, and Bryan had to lean in close to catch her words.
"Angel, what happened?"
"...Breakers..."
"The Breakers did this to you?" His voice took on a low, angry note as she nodded weakly. "I'm gonna kill those bastards."
"You can't..." she murmured. "They're all dead."
"What?!"
"It's true, sir." At this new voice, Bryan raised his head to fix his eyes on the speaker. A tall, raven-haired cop with unnaturally bright green eyes.
"Who the hell are you?" Bryan growled.
"Officer Jarod Greene. I believe we spoke on your sister Angel's cell phone." He handed the phone to Bryan.
"I'm her brother, Bryan Fury. What the hell is going on?" He paused, and let go of the stretcher. Instantly Angel's free hand shot out and wrapped around her brother's arm.
"Don't leave me alone," she pleaded weakly.
"I won't," he promised. To Officer Greene he tossed a "Later!" before disappearing through the double doors of the operating room.
Bryan stood next to Angel's head. The anesthesiologist attempted to put a breathing mask on Angel, but the wounded girl batted it away. "No drugs..." she murmured. Her left hand gripped the metal rim of the gurney, while her right clutched her brother's hand.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we have to sedate you before we can start operating," the techie tried to reason with her.
Angel shook her head weakly. "If I go to sleep now," she wheezed, "I won't wake up."
Bryan was startled at this omission. "Jesus Christ," he muttered in shock. It was only her iron determination that kept her breathing.
The surgery was agonizingly slow, as the doctors searched for, found, and patched each and every hole and scratch on Angel's battered body. For every hole, a new one seemed to pop up out of nowhere. More blood was lost, more doctors were called in. Through it all, Angel continued to physically keep herself alive, as Bryan whispered reassuring thoughts in her ear.
Every once in a while, an image would flash into Bryan's mind. Angel's memories of the attack. He was shocked at the detail paid to all the blood and gore. Every once in a while, images would fit together in such a way that they would almost seem to be words. His face, a few events, her face, more events. She was talking to him with her mind, calling images and emotions to the forefront of his mind and letting him translate them as best he could. She was telling him where she hurt most, and Bryan would point out these spots to Cassandra, who stood immediately to his right.
The chief surgeon was finally called in, out of a triple-bypass upstairs. He took one look at the bloody form on the table and shouted "Jesus Christ! How the hell is this kid still breathing?!" Angel didn't answer; she was too busy concentrating on that very act.
It was a half-hour later that Bryan felt the slight intrusion on his consciousness. It was Angel, speaking to him psychically. It was an image that looked like him. She was calling him. Bryan, the thought murmured, I won't make it like this. I have to heal myself. It took him a while to translate this.
Bryan projected an air of curiosity, puzzlement, and worry.
She tried a new tactic, and plastered words in his mind, like he was reading print off a piece of paper. It worked much better that way. I can go into a state of suspended animation. I can heal myself better from there, but it requires that I lose conscious control of everything.
No! It's too risky!
It's a risk I have to take.
Angel, no!
Bryan... I love you.
"Angel," Bryan murmured aloud. "Angel, no!"
By his side, Cassandra looked sharply at him. "Bryan, what is it?" Before he could answer, the heart monitor's sirens came on as Angel's heartbeat slowed. "We're losing her!" Cassandra shouted, her attention back on her patient.
Bryan could only stare into Angel's face, at the closed eyes. She was doing that on purpose, he thought. Suspended animation. Everything in her body had to slow to a near-complete stop. I hope you know what you're doing, Angel, he thought blindly at her, because I sure as hell don't.
For the next ten minutes, the doctors worked even faster than before. Little did they know that their patient was not merely unconscious, but was helping them do their job. She was forcing her own blood to clot faster around holes. She was forcing her own lungs to take in as much oxygen as possible, from the breathing mask they'd put on her face. She was forcing her heart to beat at a steadily slower rhythm. A machine was best repaired when it wasn't moving, same as the human body.
She had receded deep inside her own mind. No longer was her body on autopilot; she was controlling it manually, like a puppeteer. She had to consciously tell her heart to beat, her lungs to expand and contract, her digestive tract to continue working. It was working, she could feel, but it was also horribly taxing on her psyche. She should be dead, she reasoned within herself. Behind her, she could feel the yawning black pit, wanting to take her in. She ignored it as best she could. She was actually refusing to die.
Then, everyone felt it. The doctors were done! Angel was healed! All the holes were patched, the cuts were closed. Everything was okay. But it wasn't. Angel's vital signs were still dangerously low.
Cassandra looked worried. "Why isn't she stablizing? Why isn't she coming back around? She should be awake by now!"
Only Bryan knew the answer. Wake up, Angel, he thought blindly at his sister's mind. Wake up! They're done! No response. Angel?
The reply was incredibly faint. So... tired... Her mind was exhausted. Consciously controlling her own body had taken more from her than she was able to give. She could feel herself slipping into that black pit. I'm so tired... she thought at her brother. Let me sleep...
ANGEL, NO!!! her brother's mind screamed. You can't sleep! You'll die!
"Bryan, what's wrong?" Cassandra noticed the tension on her lover's face.
"She's tired. She's dying!" Bryan was starting to panic. "Cassandra, you have to wake her up!"
Cassandra seemed to understand. She grabbed a bag of adrenaline from a shelf in the OR and jammed an IV into Angel's arm. The entire staff, plus Bryan, waited with bated breath. No response. The heart monitor flatlined, and Angel's lungs stilled.
At a signal from the chief surgeon, the operating team tried CPR. No response. They fired up the electric paddles, and shocked her a few times. Nothing. Nothing was working!
The heart monitor was screaming that Angel's heart had stopped. So was Bryan's mind.
"Bryan," Cassandra murmured. "There's nothing else we can do."
"But there must be-"
"No, Bryan. It's over." Her voice was quiet, but strong. She'd dealt with death before. So had he, in a much more real fashion, but this was different. He actually cared about this person, and now she was gone. His shoulders slumped in defeat. He stared at the broken, lifeless body of his sister, and backed away. Cassandra put a gentle hand on his arm, and stared deeply into his eyes. Both pairs of eyes burned with unshed tears, before Cassandra lowered her gaze.
Sympathy apparent in her face, Cassandra raised her watch. "Time of death, 4-"
Beep.
Everyone froze, and stared at the heart monitor.
Beep.
Cassandra frowned. "Jim, I thought you turned that off."
"I turned the alarm off. It must still be on," the techie replied, confusion evident on his face.
Beep.
Bryan could hardly dare to even hope. Could Angel still be alive? Cautiously he moved to her head.
Beep.
Suddenly, so suddenly that it startled everyone, Angel's chest heaved as she inhaled, the breath of life itself. Then she exhaled, just as heavily, before her breathing returned to a normal rhythm. Her heart was beating properly, too.
Then her eyes flew open, so quickly that Bryan jumped. Then he stared. Her normally lavendar eyes now glowed a bright, angry red. It was almost demonic looking. The eyes stared at the ceiling for the longest time, not blinking. Then the light faded, and they were the normal color once again. The eyes blinked, and moved to look at Bryan.
Without saying a word, Angel reached a bloody hand up to remove the breathing mask from her face. The other grasped her brother's forearm reassuringly.
By this time, the entire operating team had moved back to their places, and began checking Angel out. The holes were still patched, the cuts still closed. Her vitals were normal, and strong. She was fine.
She was weak, and battered, and bruised, but alive. How in the world was Angel alive? She was rightfully dead, she had died right then. But now, here she was, alive again. How? Cassandra's mind reeled from confusion.
Bryan simply leaned forward and gripped Angel in a crushing bearhug. She returned it, with less strength than usual, but that was understandable. Visibly drained, she flopped back onto her bloody gurney and stared at the ceiling. "Damn, I'm tired," she muttered.
Cassandra was still shaken, but managed a reply. "I think we'll keep you overnight, just for observation. I don't forsee any complications, so if all goes well, you'll be released tomorrow." This was said as the gurney was wheeled out into the hallway.
"Into my custody," said a familiar voice. Bryan and Angel looked up to see Officer Greene standing in the hallway.
"What for?" Angel asked.
"What for?" he echoed. "Ma'am, you just killed seventeen people."
Her eyes widened, stunned. Her mouth formed a little O as she stared incredulously at him. "You can't be serious."
"I am," he said sternly. "Seventeen dead, at your hands."
"But it was self-defense," she started, when Bryan laid a heavy hand on her shoulder.
"Not now, Angel," he said calmly. Then he fixed the cop with his unnerving stare. "We're not gonna discuss this now. Angel's gonna go upstairs to sleep for the next few hours, while you and I have a little talk." With his bare hand on her bare arm, she had no trouble deducing his thoughts.
He was genuinely worried about her, but still determined to be his hardass self. She patted his hand, and shooed him away. "You boys play nice, now, you hear me?" she said jokingly, after imparting caution into his mind. Her brother nodded, indicating that he understood, and followed the cop to the lounge.
Angel lay back, sighed, and fell almost immediately fell into a deep sleep.
He glanced at the clock. Three goddamn o'clock in the morning! Irritated, Bryan stretched an arm out towards the reciever on the bedside stand, being careful not to upset his bedmate. He picked it up. "Yeah?"
"Excuse me, sir, is your name Bryan?"
"Yeah."
"Do you have a younger sister, sir? Tall, white hair, kinda purple-ish eyes?"
He was wide awake now. "Angel? Yeah. Who is this?"
"This is Officer Jarod Greene. I'm sorry to tell you, sir, but your younger sister has been involved in a shootout about half an hour ago. She's on her way to the hospital now."
Bryan sat bolt upright on the bed, dislodging Cassandra's arms around him, as well as a sleepy moan from her throat. He ignored her. "Is she hurt bad?"
The voice hesitated. "Yes, sir. She may not make it."
"Jesus... which hospital?"
"St. Mary's."
"...thank you. I'm on my way." He replaced the reciever on the stand and catapaulted out of bed, which promptly woke Cassandra.
"Mmm... Bryan? What's going on?"
"Angel's been in some kind of accident. She's on her way to the hospital, and I'm gonna meet her there." He rummaged through his dresser for the necessary clothing, as Cassandra sat up and wrapped herself in his sheets.
"Which hospital is it?"
"The cop said it was St. Mary's."
Cassandra climbed out of the bed and began putting clothes on. Bryan looked over. "Where do you think you're going?"
"I'm going with you."
"Why?"
She looked him full in the eye. "I'm an ER surgeon at St. Mary's. My specialty is trauma."
"What are the odds," he muttered as they dressed quickly in the pre-dawn chill.
They drove separate cars to the hospital, since Cassandra was going to go on call in an hour, anyway. White lab coat and blond hair flying, Cassandra marched Bryan through the ER doors and towards the ambulance entrance. They were just in time, and it was Bryan that spotted the bloody, silver-haired form on the stretcher rolling towards one of the operating rooms. "ANGEL!!!" he roared, and shoved through several people to reach her.
"Excuse me, sir, but you'll have to stay back-" one of the EMTs tried to say, but Bryan bodily shoved him out of the way, and planted himself next to Angel's head.
The EMT waved his hands in frustration, until Cassandra put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Frank. They're family."
"Yes, Dr. Harrelson."
Cassandra's tone was clipped and professional as she gathered the necessary details and vital signs from the EMTs. Bryan ignored all of it, his eyes never leaving Angel's face.
She was a mess. Her clothing was too bloody to tell where the wounds were. Her gleaming silver hair was filthy, and had streaks of bright red in it. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was shallow. Too shallow for his liking. His eyes examined her, and with some shock he noticed her birthday knife from Jerry clutched in her right hand. It, too, was covered in blood. It had probably saved her life, he thought, and with some effort he pried it loose from her fingers. This action brought her awake, and her eyes flew open to fix on his.
"Bryan," she murmured. Her voice was faint, and Bryan had to lean in close to catch her words.
"Angel, what happened?"
"...Breakers..."
"The Breakers did this to you?" His voice took on a low, angry note as she nodded weakly. "I'm gonna kill those bastards."
"You can't..." she murmured. "They're all dead."
"What?!"
"It's true, sir." At this new voice, Bryan raised his head to fix his eyes on the speaker. A tall, raven-haired cop with unnaturally bright green eyes.
"Who the hell are you?" Bryan growled.
"Officer Jarod Greene. I believe we spoke on your sister Angel's cell phone." He handed the phone to Bryan.
"I'm her brother, Bryan Fury. What the hell is going on?" He paused, and let go of the stretcher. Instantly Angel's free hand shot out and wrapped around her brother's arm.
"Don't leave me alone," she pleaded weakly.
"I won't," he promised. To Officer Greene he tossed a "Later!" before disappearing through the double doors of the operating room.
Bryan stood next to Angel's head. The anesthesiologist attempted to put a breathing mask on Angel, but the wounded girl batted it away. "No drugs..." she murmured. Her left hand gripped the metal rim of the gurney, while her right clutched her brother's hand.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we have to sedate you before we can start operating," the techie tried to reason with her.
Angel shook her head weakly. "If I go to sleep now," she wheezed, "I won't wake up."
Bryan was startled at this omission. "Jesus Christ," he muttered in shock. It was only her iron determination that kept her breathing.
The surgery was agonizingly slow, as the doctors searched for, found, and patched each and every hole and scratch on Angel's battered body. For every hole, a new one seemed to pop up out of nowhere. More blood was lost, more doctors were called in. Through it all, Angel continued to physically keep herself alive, as Bryan whispered reassuring thoughts in her ear.
Every once in a while, an image would flash into Bryan's mind. Angel's memories of the attack. He was shocked at the detail paid to all the blood and gore. Every once in a while, images would fit together in such a way that they would almost seem to be words. His face, a few events, her face, more events. She was talking to him with her mind, calling images and emotions to the forefront of his mind and letting him translate them as best he could. She was telling him where she hurt most, and Bryan would point out these spots to Cassandra, who stood immediately to his right.
The chief surgeon was finally called in, out of a triple-bypass upstairs. He took one look at the bloody form on the table and shouted "Jesus Christ! How the hell is this kid still breathing?!" Angel didn't answer; she was too busy concentrating on that very act.
It was a half-hour later that Bryan felt the slight intrusion on his consciousness. It was Angel, speaking to him psychically. It was an image that looked like him. She was calling him. Bryan, the thought murmured, I won't make it like this. I have to heal myself. It took him a while to translate this.
Bryan projected an air of curiosity, puzzlement, and worry.
She tried a new tactic, and plastered words in his mind, like he was reading print off a piece of paper. It worked much better that way. I can go into a state of suspended animation. I can heal myself better from there, but it requires that I lose conscious control of everything.
No! It's too risky!
It's a risk I have to take.
Angel, no!
Bryan... I love you.
"Angel," Bryan murmured aloud. "Angel, no!"
By his side, Cassandra looked sharply at him. "Bryan, what is it?" Before he could answer, the heart monitor's sirens came on as Angel's heartbeat slowed. "We're losing her!" Cassandra shouted, her attention back on her patient.
Bryan could only stare into Angel's face, at the closed eyes. She was doing that on purpose, he thought. Suspended animation. Everything in her body had to slow to a near-complete stop. I hope you know what you're doing, Angel, he thought blindly at her, because I sure as hell don't.
For the next ten minutes, the doctors worked even faster than before. Little did they know that their patient was not merely unconscious, but was helping them do their job. She was forcing her own blood to clot faster around holes. She was forcing her own lungs to take in as much oxygen as possible, from the breathing mask they'd put on her face. She was forcing her heart to beat at a steadily slower rhythm. A machine was best repaired when it wasn't moving, same as the human body.
She had receded deep inside her own mind. No longer was her body on autopilot; she was controlling it manually, like a puppeteer. She had to consciously tell her heart to beat, her lungs to expand and contract, her digestive tract to continue working. It was working, she could feel, but it was also horribly taxing on her psyche. She should be dead, she reasoned within herself. Behind her, she could feel the yawning black pit, wanting to take her in. She ignored it as best she could. She was actually refusing to die.
Then, everyone felt it. The doctors were done! Angel was healed! All the holes were patched, the cuts were closed. Everything was okay. But it wasn't. Angel's vital signs were still dangerously low.
Cassandra looked worried. "Why isn't she stablizing? Why isn't she coming back around? She should be awake by now!"
Only Bryan knew the answer. Wake up, Angel, he thought blindly at his sister's mind. Wake up! They're done! No response. Angel?
The reply was incredibly faint. So... tired... Her mind was exhausted. Consciously controlling her own body had taken more from her than she was able to give. She could feel herself slipping into that black pit. I'm so tired... she thought at her brother. Let me sleep...
ANGEL, NO!!! her brother's mind screamed. You can't sleep! You'll die!
"Bryan, what's wrong?" Cassandra noticed the tension on her lover's face.
"She's tired. She's dying!" Bryan was starting to panic. "Cassandra, you have to wake her up!"
Cassandra seemed to understand. She grabbed a bag of adrenaline from a shelf in the OR and jammed an IV into Angel's arm. The entire staff, plus Bryan, waited with bated breath. No response. The heart monitor flatlined, and Angel's lungs stilled.
At a signal from the chief surgeon, the operating team tried CPR. No response. They fired up the electric paddles, and shocked her a few times. Nothing. Nothing was working!
The heart monitor was screaming that Angel's heart had stopped. So was Bryan's mind.
"Bryan," Cassandra murmured. "There's nothing else we can do."
"But there must be-"
"No, Bryan. It's over." Her voice was quiet, but strong. She'd dealt with death before. So had he, in a much more real fashion, but this was different. He actually cared about this person, and now she was gone. His shoulders slumped in defeat. He stared at the broken, lifeless body of his sister, and backed away. Cassandra put a gentle hand on his arm, and stared deeply into his eyes. Both pairs of eyes burned with unshed tears, before Cassandra lowered her gaze.
Sympathy apparent in her face, Cassandra raised her watch. "Time of death, 4-"
Beep.
Everyone froze, and stared at the heart monitor.
Beep.
Cassandra frowned. "Jim, I thought you turned that off."
"I turned the alarm off. It must still be on," the techie replied, confusion evident on his face.
Beep.
Bryan could hardly dare to even hope. Could Angel still be alive? Cautiously he moved to her head.
Beep.
Suddenly, so suddenly that it startled everyone, Angel's chest heaved as she inhaled, the breath of life itself. Then she exhaled, just as heavily, before her breathing returned to a normal rhythm. Her heart was beating properly, too.
Then her eyes flew open, so quickly that Bryan jumped. Then he stared. Her normally lavendar eyes now glowed a bright, angry red. It was almost demonic looking. The eyes stared at the ceiling for the longest time, not blinking. Then the light faded, and they were the normal color once again. The eyes blinked, and moved to look at Bryan.
Without saying a word, Angel reached a bloody hand up to remove the breathing mask from her face. The other grasped her brother's forearm reassuringly.
By this time, the entire operating team had moved back to their places, and began checking Angel out. The holes were still patched, the cuts still closed. Her vitals were normal, and strong. She was fine.
She was weak, and battered, and bruised, but alive. How in the world was Angel alive? She was rightfully dead, she had died right then. But now, here she was, alive again. How? Cassandra's mind reeled from confusion.
Bryan simply leaned forward and gripped Angel in a crushing bearhug. She returned it, with less strength than usual, but that was understandable. Visibly drained, she flopped back onto her bloody gurney and stared at the ceiling. "Damn, I'm tired," she muttered.
Cassandra was still shaken, but managed a reply. "I think we'll keep you overnight, just for observation. I don't forsee any complications, so if all goes well, you'll be released tomorrow." This was said as the gurney was wheeled out into the hallway.
"Into my custody," said a familiar voice. Bryan and Angel looked up to see Officer Greene standing in the hallway.
"What for?" Angel asked.
"What for?" he echoed. "Ma'am, you just killed seventeen people."
Her eyes widened, stunned. Her mouth formed a little O as she stared incredulously at him. "You can't be serious."
"I am," he said sternly. "Seventeen dead, at your hands."
"But it was self-defense," she started, when Bryan laid a heavy hand on her shoulder.
"Not now, Angel," he said calmly. Then he fixed the cop with his unnerving stare. "We're not gonna discuss this now. Angel's gonna go upstairs to sleep for the next few hours, while you and I have a little talk." With his bare hand on her bare arm, she had no trouble deducing his thoughts.
He was genuinely worried about her, but still determined to be his hardass self. She patted his hand, and shooed him away. "You boys play nice, now, you hear me?" she said jokingly, after imparting caution into his mind. Her brother nodded, indicating that he understood, and followed the cop to the lounge.
Angel lay back, sighed, and fell almost immediately fell into a deep sleep.