Stumble Into Grace- Chapter 18
-Buffy-
Pain wakes me up. There are bright lights shining in my eyes and I put a hand up to shield them. I'm lying in the floor of Angel's Audi. Angel, oh God, I push myself up into the passenger seat. He's sitting there behind the wheel of the car. I lay a hand on his right shoulder. I can see the left side of his face is covered in blood. Oh, God take deep breaths, Buffy. He needs you. This is not the time to panic.
"Angel, baby, can you hear me?" Tears are fighting against me. I can't break down, not now. I try to will the Slayer in me to take over. This is a battle the Slayer is as helpless to fight as Buffy is. She loves him too.
Angel's head lolls over to the right side. I can see the blood is from a gash above his temple. It definitely looks like it could use stitches.
"Buffy," his voice is a threadbare whisper when it finally comes.
"I'm here, Angel. I'm right here. Listen the ambulance is here. They're gonna get us out."
He blinks at me in something that resembles a nod. A paramedic is speaking to me through the window.
"Miss, are you alright?" He asks.
"I'm fine. He's not. You've got to get him out of here." I say.
"We're working on it. The doors won't open." The paramedic says.
"Get back." I tell him. He doesn't listen. It doesn't matter. If they can't get Angel out of here, I'm getting him out. I lean back and brace my boots against the window. I pull my knees to my chest and kick. The window shatters. The paramedic gapes at me. I wiggle out of the passenger side window, heedless of the shards of glass that slice my skin.
"Miss, you just can't do that." The paramedic says weakly. I give him slayer-eyes and stalk over to Angel's side of the car. My knees go weak looking at it. I retch, falling to my hands and knees on the asphalt. There is nothing about the twisted hunk of metal that resembles a car. I register that there is another twisted hunk of metal not far from the Audi, but I don't pause over it. I take a deep, shaky breath and gather my nerves about me. Angel is in that car and while the cops screw around getting the Jaws of Life, or whatever, Angel could be dy-getting more hurt.
I walk to the car. A police man grabs me by the arm. I shrug him off. The driver's side window is a huge star burst. There's a smear of blood in the center of it, Angel's blood. The edge of the car door is peeled out, because the center of the car door has been viciously shoved inward, toward Angel, my Angel.
"Miss, you've got to get back, you could cut yourself-"A hand lands on my shoulder. I shrug it off. I curl my fingers around the edge of the door.
"Miss, you can't. We're going to cut the door away. We've just got to get the equipment here."
Another hand on my shoulder, I shrug. It doesn't move. I turn around and glare at the policeman. It's a glare that sends vampires, demons and other denizens of hell running. The policeman doesn't have a chance. He backs off a couple of steps. The metal cuts into my fingers as I pull. I lay my forehead against the sunburst glass and weep. Angel's entire left side is covered in blood. I wish Spike were here, or anyone with superhero strength besides just me. I wrap my fingers around the metal again. I lean back into it and pull. I hear the creak and squeal of metal as it struggles with me. I can hear the whispers behind me. I don't care. This is Angel.
At some point I guess all the big strong police officers decide to help the poor little blond girl. It takes me and two big men to pry the door open. I fall to my knees on the pavement. I can feel the glass biting into my knees. I'm glad. It keeps me grounded, keeps me from completely losing it because Angel is hurt. He keeps coming in and out of consciousness. I've seen a few wounds in my time so I feel like I can make a fair assessment of Angel's more superficial wounds. His left arm is broken. Some part of the door has gouged into his side but I don't think any internal organs were hit, at least not important ones, not enough blood.
The only time I move away from him are when the medics get him out of the car. He's strapped to a back board with an IV in his arm and he looks so pale and so fragile. His eyes flicker to me and I smile as big as I possibly can through my tears. I follow the medics to the ambulance.
"I'm going with him." I say. My tone leaves no room for discussion.
The medic looks at me a moment and then nods. I sit on Angel's right side in the ambulance. I hold his hand and run my fingers over his face. I talk to him and promise him things are going to be okay. I never stop smiling at him. He doesn't say anything to me, just looks at me with bottomless brown eyes, the pain in them so evident.
Once we get to the hospital Angel is rushed into a room filled with doctors and nurses. Several nurses flutter their hands over me asking if I need to be checked out, am I okay, why don't I sit down and a doctor will be right with me. I shove the clinging hands away and intently watch in the direction they took Angel. Eventually I guess they get the point that I'm okay and I'm not interested in having a doctor tell me that. Someone slips a clipboard with papers on it in my hands.
"Are you family?" The nurse asks.
"I'm his wife." I say without pause.
The nurse nods. "You'll need to fill those out."
I nod and sit down beside the courtesy phone in the emergency room. I struggle to catch my breath. I can't do this alone. I need Giles. I pick up the phone and dial his number. He sounds sleepy when he finally answers.
"Giles, I'm sorry to wake you up." I say my voice cracking.
"Buffy, Good Heavens, what's the matter?" He asks, instantly awake.
"On the way home, a car, there was a wreck-"The tears I've been holding back since I woke up over take me. I can't finish.
"I'm on my way." He hangs up the phone.
I take several deep breaths and dab at my tears with tissue. I try to focus on the papers in front of me. Name, I fill in Angel Summers without pause. I can't think. I'm beyond relieved when Giles gets there. He's rumpled, like he just rolled out of bed.
"Buffy, are you alright?" He franticly runs his hands over my arms and shoulders. He pushes the hair back from my face.
"I'm fine, Giles." I say.
He captures me in a hug and finally I can let go of all the tears. We sit down together on a sofa and Giles lets me cry out all my fears.
"My dear, dear girl." He whispers and strokes my hair.
After a few minutes I get control of myself again. I wipe at my eyes.
"Why don't you go wash your face and clean up a bit? I'll finish filling out the papers for you. I imagine I can come up with information as well as you can." Giles says.
"They think-I told them he's my husband." I say standing up.
Giles nod. "He is."
Everything seems to move in slow motion as I walk to the bathroom. I look in the mirror and I realize why Giles thought I was injured, why the nurses thought I was injured. I am ghost pale. My left eye is black. There is a cut on my left cheekbone. I am covered in blood, Angel's blood. My new white sweater is splashed brown with it. I swallow thickly. I turn the water on and watch it run over my hands. The water turns pink with Angel's blood and I snatch my hands out from under the flow before it all washes away, down the drain. Irrational, I know, but for some reason it feels like if I keep his blood on my hands, on my clothes, my face, I keep him. I take a deep breath. I can't go back out there looking like this. I put my hands back under the cold water and splash my face with it. I keep my eyes closed until I'm certain the water in the sink has run clear. I pull my hair off my neck and lean back against the cool tile wall. I take a deep breath of antiseptic hospital smell and try not to retch. I open the door and walk back out into the quiet emergency room. Giles is sitting on the sofa. He has a cup of coffee in his hand. I sit down beside him.
"I turned the forms in for you." He says.
I look at him with wide eyes, panic rises in my voice. "No, Giles. You can't. I don't know his birthday. I didn't know how old to make him. I don't know-I don't know." The tears rise to my eyes and I blink furiously to get rid of them.
"Its okay, Buffy. I made his birthday September 24 1983. Angel was 26 when he was turned." Giles says in a calm reasonable tone.
I nod. "Thank you. I'm older then him. Did you know that? I'm older then Angel."
"I know. It's okay." Giles says. "I called Willow. I thought you might like her here. She's going to bring you some fresh clothing. You're quite sure you're alright? You don't need to see a doctor?"
I shake my head. "I'll be bruised and sore tomorrow, nothing nifty slayer healing won't take care of." My voice breaks and I bite my bottom lip, drawing blood, to keep from breaking down again. "He has to heal with regular human healing, Giles." The tears spill over and run down my cheeks.
"I know."
Willow shows up a bit later. She brings me a heavy blue sweater and a pair of jeans. I thank her silently and go to the bathroom to change. I am reluctant to take off my Angel blood-stained sweater. I'm afraid I'll scare him when he finally wakes up though. I slip into the clean clothes, carefully folding my bloody sweater and pants up. I walk back into the emergency room. Willow hands me a plastic bag for my clothes. I slip them inside and sit down on the sofa, bracketed by Giles and Willow. They are holding me up from both sides.
It is hours before a doctor comes out to give us any information.
"Mrs. Summers, I'm Doctor Fulton, I've been taking care of your husband."
I see Willow's eyebrows shoot up at the word husband. Giles just nods at her.
"His left arm is broken in two places. We've set it and put a cast on it. He received 23 stitches in his forehead and 48 in his left side. There was no internal bleeding. The real worry right now is his spinal cord. There's severe swelling and we're unable to tell if there is any nerve damage or not." The doctor says.
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"Right now, we don't know. It could mean nothing at all. If there is nerve damage, it could mean a spinal cord injury in which case we'd be dealing with possible paralysis. But again, we won't know that for several days when the swelling goes down."
I nod. I can't say anything or I would. Right now it's taking everything in me to just remain upright and breathing.
"He's still unconscious but he should be waking up pretty soon, if you'd like to go sit with him."
"Thank you." I whisper.
Dr. Fulton gives us directions to Angel's room. Willow and Giles hold my hands, walking on each side of me, lending me strength. I'm not prepared for what I see. Angel is lying in bed and he's so small. His skin has taken on a gray pallor. The stark white cast on his arm only brings it to attention. He has tubes going and out of his body and he's hooked up to a variety of machines. I choke out a sob and cover my mouth with my hand. Giles catches me when my knees buckle underneath me. He guides me to a chair next to Angel's bed.
I take Angel's hand in mine and slide to my knees beside him. I bite my bottom lip and rest my forehead on his hand. I've never really prayed much; even after all I've seen and done. I start praying now.
-Buffy-
Pain wakes me up. There are bright lights shining in my eyes and I put a hand up to shield them. I'm lying in the floor of Angel's Audi. Angel, oh God, I push myself up into the passenger seat. He's sitting there behind the wheel of the car. I lay a hand on his right shoulder. I can see the left side of his face is covered in blood. Oh, God take deep breaths, Buffy. He needs you. This is not the time to panic.
"Angel, baby, can you hear me?" Tears are fighting against me. I can't break down, not now. I try to will the Slayer in me to take over. This is a battle the Slayer is as helpless to fight as Buffy is. She loves him too.
Angel's head lolls over to the right side. I can see the blood is from a gash above his temple. It definitely looks like it could use stitches.
"Buffy," his voice is a threadbare whisper when it finally comes.
"I'm here, Angel. I'm right here. Listen the ambulance is here. They're gonna get us out."
He blinks at me in something that resembles a nod. A paramedic is speaking to me through the window.
"Miss, are you alright?" He asks.
"I'm fine. He's not. You've got to get him out of here." I say.
"We're working on it. The doors won't open." The paramedic says.
"Get back." I tell him. He doesn't listen. It doesn't matter. If they can't get Angel out of here, I'm getting him out. I lean back and brace my boots against the window. I pull my knees to my chest and kick. The window shatters. The paramedic gapes at me. I wiggle out of the passenger side window, heedless of the shards of glass that slice my skin.
"Miss, you just can't do that." The paramedic says weakly. I give him slayer-eyes and stalk over to Angel's side of the car. My knees go weak looking at it. I retch, falling to my hands and knees on the asphalt. There is nothing about the twisted hunk of metal that resembles a car. I register that there is another twisted hunk of metal not far from the Audi, but I don't pause over it. I take a deep, shaky breath and gather my nerves about me. Angel is in that car and while the cops screw around getting the Jaws of Life, or whatever, Angel could be dy-getting more hurt.
I walk to the car. A police man grabs me by the arm. I shrug him off. The driver's side window is a huge star burst. There's a smear of blood in the center of it, Angel's blood. The edge of the car door is peeled out, because the center of the car door has been viciously shoved inward, toward Angel, my Angel.
"Miss, you've got to get back, you could cut yourself-"A hand lands on my shoulder. I shrug it off. I curl my fingers around the edge of the door.
"Miss, you can't. We're going to cut the door away. We've just got to get the equipment here."
Another hand on my shoulder, I shrug. It doesn't move. I turn around and glare at the policeman. It's a glare that sends vampires, demons and other denizens of hell running. The policeman doesn't have a chance. He backs off a couple of steps. The metal cuts into my fingers as I pull. I lay my forehead against the sunburst glass and weep. Angel's entire left side is covered in blood. I wish Spike were here, or anyone with superhero strength besides just me. I wrap my fingers around the metal again. I lean back into it and pull. I hear the creak and squeal of metal as it struggles with me. I can hear the whispers behind me. I don't care. This is Angel.
At some point I guess all the big strong police officers decide to help the poor little blond girl. It takes me and two big men to pry the door open. I fall to my knees on the pavement. I can feel the glass biting into my knees. I'm glad. It keeps me grounded, keeps me from completely losing it because Angel is hurt. He keeps coming in and out of consciousness. I've seen a few wounds in my time so I feel like I can make a fair assessment of Angel's more superficial wounds. His left arm is broken. Some part of the door has gouged into his side but I don't think any internal organs were hit, at least not important ones, not enough blood.
The only time I move away from him are when the medics get him out of the car. He's strapped to a back board with an IV in his arm and he looks so pale and so fragile. His eyes flicker to me and I smile as big as I possibly can through my tears. I follow the medics to the ambulance.
"I'm going with him." I say. My tone leaves no room for discussion.
The medic looks at me a moment and then nods. I sit on Angel's right side in the ambulance. I hold his hand and run my fingers over his face. I talk to him and promise him things are going to be okay. I never stop smiling at him. He doesn't say anything to me, just looks at me with bottomless brown eyes, the pain in them so evident.
Once we get to the hospital Angel is rushed into a room filled with doctors and nurses. Several nurses flutter their hands over me asking if I need to be checked out, am I okay, why don't I sit down and a doctor will be right with me. I shove the clinging hands away and intently watch in the direction they took Angel. Eventually I guess they get the point that I'm okay and I'm not interested in having a doctor tell me that. Someone slips a clipboard with papers on it in my hands.
"Are you family?" The nurse asks.
"I'm his wife." I say without pause.
The nurse nods. "You'll need to fill those out."
I nod and sit down beside the courtesy phone in the emergency room. I struggle to catch my breath. I can't do this alone. I need Giles. I pick up the phone and dial his number. He sounds sleepy when he finally answers.
"Giles, I'm sorry to wake you up." I say my voice cracking.
"Buffy, Good Heavens, what's the matter?" He asks, instantly awake.
"On the way home, a car, there was a wreck-"The tears I've been holding back since I woke up over take me. I can't finish.
"I'm on my way." He hangs up the phone.
I take several deep breaths and dab at my tears with tissue. I try to focus on the papers in front of me. Name, I fill in Angel Summers without pause. I can't think. I'm beyond relieved when Giles gets there. He's rumpled, like he just rolled out of bed.
"Buffy, are you alright?" He franticly runs his hands over my arms and shoulders. He pushes the hair back from my face.
"I'm fine, Giles." I say.
He captures me in a hug and finally I can let go of all the tears. We sit down together on a sofa and Giles lets me cry out all my fears.
"My dear, dear girl." He whispers and strokes my hair.
After a few minutes I get control of myself again. I wipe at my eyes.
"Why don't you go wash your face and clean up a bit? I'll finish filling out the papers for you. I imagine I can come up with information as well as you can." Giles says.
"They think-I told them he's my husband." I say standing up.
Giles nod. "He is."
Everything seems to move in slow motion as I walk to the bathroom. I look in the mirror and I realize why Giles thought I was injured, why the nurses thought I was injured. I am ghost pale. My left eye is black. There is a cut on my left cheekbone. I am covered in blood, Angel's blood. My new white sweater is splashed brown with it. I swallow thickly. I turn the water on and watch it run over my hands. The water turns pink with Angel's blood and I snatch my hands out from under the flow before it all washes away, down the drain. Irrational, I know, but for some reason it feels like if I keep his blood on my hands, on my clothes, my face, I keep him. I take a deep breath. I can't go back out there looking like this. I put my hands back under the cold water and splash my face with it. I keep my eyes closed until I'm certain the water in the sink has run clear. I pull my hair off my neck and lean back against the cool tile wall. I take a deep breath of antiseptic hospital smell and try not to retch. I open the door and walk back out into the quiet emergency room. Giles is sitting on the sofa. He has a cup of coffee in his hand. I sit down beside him.
"I turned the forms in for you." He says.
I look at him with wide eyes, panic rises in my voice. "No, Giles. You can't. I don't know his birthday. I didn't know how old to make him. I don't know-I don't know." The tears rise to my eyes and I blink furiously to get rid of them.
"Its okay, Buffy. I made his birthday September 24 1983. Angel was 26 when he was turned." Giles says in a calm reasonable tone.
I nod. "Thank you. I'm older then him. Did you know that? I'm older then Angel."
"I know. It's okay." Giles says. "I called Willow. I thought you might like her here. She's going to bring you some fresh clothing. You're quite sure you're alright? You don't need to see a doctor?"
I shake my head. "I'll be bruised and sore tomorrow, nothing nifty slayer healing won't take care of." My voice breaks and I bite my bottom lip, drawing blood, to keep from breaking down again. "He has to heal with regular human healing, Giles." The tears spill over and run down my cheeks.
"I know."
Willow shows up a bit later. She brings me a heavy blue sweater and a pair of jeans. I thank her silently and go to the bathroom to change. I am reluctant to take off my Angel blood-stained sweater. I'm afraid I'll scare him when he finally wakes up though. I slip into the clean clothes, carefully folding my bloody sweater and pants up. I walk back into the emergency room. Willow hands me a plastic bag for my clothes. I slip them inside and sit down on the sofa, bracketed by Giles and Willow. They are holding me up from both sides.
It is hours before a doctor comes out to give us any information.
"Mrs. Summers, I'm Doctor Fulton, I've been taking care of your husband."
I see Willow's eyebrows shoot up at the word husband. Giles just nods at her.
"His left arm is broken in two places. We've set it and put a cast on it. He received 23 stitches in his forehead and 48 in his left side. There was no internal bleeding. The real worry right now is his spinal cord. There's severe swelling and we're unable to tell if there is any nerve damage or not." The doctor says.
"What does that mean?" I ask.
"Right now, we don't know. It could mean nothing at all. If there is nerve damage, it could mean a spinal cord injury in which case we'd be dealing with possible paralysis. But again, we won't know that for several days when the swelling goes down."
I nod. I can't say anything or I would. Right now it's taking everything in me to just remain upright and breathing.
"He's still unconscious but he should be waking up pretty soon, if you'd like to go sit with him."
"Thank you." I whisper.
Dr. Fulton gives us directions to Angel's room. Willow and Giles hold my hands, walking on each side of me, lending me strength. I'm not prepared for what I see. Angel is lying in bed and he's so small. His skin has taken on a gray pallor. The stark white cast on his arm only brings it to attention. He has tubes going and out of his body and he's hooked up to a variety of machines. I choke out a sob and cover my mouth with my hand. Giles catches me when my knees buckle underneath me. He guides me to a chair next to Angel's bed.
I take Angel's hand in mine and slide to my knees beside him. I bite my bottom lip and rest my forehead on his hand. I've never really prayed much; even after all I've seen and done. I start praying now.