Chapter Three
John decided that waking up from the anaesthetic was the worst part. His mind was filled with a mist so thick it was hard to think even basic thoughts. His mouth and tongue were dry and he licked weakly at his lips, trying to moisten them. He moved his arm, surprised at just how heavy it felt, and feebly pressed the buzzer to attract the nurse's attention. She came quickly, bringing with her two equally welcome things. In her right hand, she carried a glass full of ice chips. Next to her walked Angela.
"How are you feeling John?" the auburn haired nurse asked. She wore a set of mint green scrubs that he found strangely repulsive. Angela took the ice chips from the nurse as she checked John's surgical site. He winced a few times as she applied pressure to sore areas, but there was no real pain. Apparently satisfied, she flipped the covers back over him in a way that made him feel about five years old again. He flexed his right hand, wincing as the tape covering one of many IV's pulled his skin. He felt slightly sick.
John knew that he wasn't up to making conversation, so he tried for a shrug and a smile, knowing that he failed miserably at both. The nurse seemed to think it was a good sign anyway. She left after checking the monitors he was attached to once again. Angela sat down on the chair, tipping a few ice chips into his mouth. He sucked them greedily, relishing the liquid. He coughed a little, clearing his throat before he tried to speak.
"The operation?" His voice was lower than normal, and more gravely. He couldn't really feel any of his body, due at least in part to the amount of drugs he'd been given. He'd trade all of them in just to know if he was going to walk again. Feeling was slowly starting to return. She held up the cup, asking if he wanted more ice. He nodded slightly, and she gave him more. The liquid was more then welcome.
"The Doctor thinks it was a success." She paused and he knew she had something bad to tell him. Her eyes had clouded, just for a second, but it had been enough. "The man before you died. The Doctor didn't say anything. I overheard his family…" There was something in her voice that he couldn't identify. She gently laid her head on the bed next to him. He couldn't see her face, but the tears trickling down his side told him that she was crying. Sensation had become very important to him, and the feel of her tears was an exquisite torture.
"It could have been you John. I couldn't bare to lose you again. I couldn't." The words were clearly stated. The emotion behind them was formidable.
"Angela." He said her name in a low voice, to get her attention. It worked and she looked up, eyes red and shining from unshed tears. "You'll never lose me. I'm not going anywhere. I won't leave again." He did something he hardly ever did- made a promise he might not be able to keep. "I promise you." He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, sealing the promise.
Curiosity got the better of her manners and she asked "How does it feel?" She let him keep hold of her hand. It was comforting to touch someone who cared.
He answered truthfully "Numb still. The pain meds are pretty strong."
She seemed a little disappointed with his answer, but there was nothing he could do about it. It wasn't like the operation was going to make him walk again straight away. It was just a means to an end. There was still months and months of physical therapy to attend before he'd be able to use the muscles in his legs. They had started to atrophy and would need work to build them back up.
"So what now?" She asked. Her hand went to her neck, and absently she fiddled with the cross hanging there.
"I go to physical therapy as many times as I can. I build the muscles back up. I walk again." He said, once again trying to move his toes. If Angela noticed, she didn't comment. To his delight, this time he felt a tiny tremor in his foot. It wasn't movement, but it was better than nothing.
Angela sat back in the chair, studying his face. "You've changed." She said finally, not quite able to pinpoint what was so different about him. It was like an echo of the man he'd been before becoming paralysed was growing stronger in him, taking him back to his true self.
"I've had to." He said and he wasn't being flippant. His tone was even, moderated even under the influence of the drug. It would be so easy for her to hate him for leaving like he had and yet she couldn't. it was the only way he could be, the only way he could survive to fight another day. And here she was bringing that day to him. Those dark eyes bled pain and she had to look away. The emotion in his eyes was too raw for her to absorb.
An explosion rocked the front of the building. Angela was so used to it she hardly reacted, but John actually recoiled from the sound. Now he understood why the windows were reinforced. He tensed, waiting for the attack, but it never came. The half-breeds were only interested in making fire, not taking lives. They would be content with the sacrifice of the car. For tonight at least. Who knew what tomorrow would bring?
"What was it?" John asked and she got up to look. He wanted to caution her, warn her to be careful but the words died on his lips. She knew what the city was capable of and how to avoid it's tricks. Thick clouds of dirty grey smoke billowed down the street, away from the hospital. A pile of old tires surrounded the white hot carcass of a car. As she watched, the half breeds threw more tires onto the flaming pile. It grew so bright that she was forced to look away.
"A car." She said simply, sitting back down. A sigh escaped from her as a feeling of despair filled her soul. Will we ever get the city back from them? she thought. Will even the great John Constantine be enough to win this war? Honestly, she didn't know if he could do it alone. She would be by his side, but she was a physic, not an exorcist. There would be only so much that she could do.
John watched her silently, amazed by the emotions morphing on her face. He yawned, surprised at how tired he felt already. His eyes slid closed, and he fought back, opening them again. A thought that's been creeping around his brain since he got back to the city finally crawled into the light.
"My apartment?" He mumbled, still fighting sleep.
Though his eyes are closed, she flushes. "I moved in. It seemed sensible. I couldn't afford the rent on both places…"
He roused himself and with effort managed to say. "It's okay. Safer there for you anyway." The apartment had enough magical protection to keep the half-breeds well outside. The enchantment around the door had been used alone to protect countless tombs. At the time, he found the irony amusing. Now, it was just unsettling. Did I invite death into my home? He thought, knowing that the first thing he's going to do is change that incantation. He shivers, more from his morbid thoughts than cold.
Angela picks up a washed out blue blanked from where it's folded on the bottom of the bed and spreads it over him. He yawns once again, and pretending impatience, she said "For God's sake, John, go back to sleep." He wanted to give her the finger, but his body was growing heavy as sleep took him into it's embrace.
She smiled fondly at him before standing. Reaching for her coat, she pulled her change purse from it and headed out of his room in search of a payphone. She didn't like John's mother, but during her rushed to the cabin, somehow Angela had promised the older woman that she would phone the second John's operation was over.
A rueful glance at her watch told Angela that she should have phoned almost forty minutes ago. Angela pulled the battered business card she had been given from her jean pocket and studied it for a few seconds, one hand resting lightly on the phone. It's cream, on thick card. A band of gold runs around the outside, as if corralling the letters and numbers. One corner has been bent and Angela straightened it with her thumb. She slipped coins into the slot on the payphone and dialled the number. The phone rang five times before it was snatched up.
"Hello?" John's mother didn't sound very concerned about her son. Angela bit back anger before speaking.
"Joan, it's Angela." She waited, and when the older woman didn't speak, she continued, knowing that a little of that anger had seeped into her voice. "John is fine, thanks for asking. He came through the operation well."
"That's good, dear. Tell him I was asking about him." Without another word, Joan put down the phone.
Angela stared at the receiver as if it could explain what had just happened. With a sigh that was part disgust, part sadness, she hung the phone back up, collecting her change before checking her watch. The phone call had taken less than three minutes. After that little display, she could understand why John was such a loner. She decided not to mention it to John , sensing that it would only upset him. He knew how little his mother cared for him. He didn't need the point hammered home any more. Those old wounds would heal, Angela knew, but only if no-one picked at the scabs.
With another sigh, she went back into John's room. He was sleeping soundly, all the monitors around him bleeping reassuringly. She took a light green blanket and small pillow from the cupboard by his bed, curling up in the chair with the blanket over her and the pillow tucked under her head. She wanted to sleep, but it felt somehow like a betrayal. She felt the need to watch over him still. Given the limited space, she was surprisingly comfortable.
She leaned her head against the pillow, eyes half closed. Felt truly safe for the first time in a long while. John was her rock and she couldn't lose him. He'd taken part of her with him when he left and only now was she getting it back. It felt so right him being back in her life. She didn't want to risk it again. So she stayed awake and watched, until the first rays of morning light broke the smoggy horizon. Only then, did she sleep.