Part 13
The shifting of the sheets beneath her head jerked Buffy from the light sleep she'd fallen into around dawn and she yanked her head up. Her eyes darted around the room, wondering what had woken her. She was sure she'd felt something. Had a nurse been in the room to check on Angel? Buffy didn't see any signs that a nurse had been in.
All throughout the night the nurses had been in and out, making sure that Angel was okay. Every time Buffy felt her eyes start to close as exhaustion overwhelmed her, someone would be clomping into the room, shining lights and poking and prodding. It had kept her awake for hours. Angel, though, had continued to sleep through it all, but Buffy was told that was normal.
She was determined to be there when he finally opened his eyes. All she wanted was to see that he was okay. The nurses had tried to kick her out of Angel's room, spouting rules and all that crap, but Buffy held firm. She was not leaving Angel's side. It was her fault he was in the hospital bed to begin with. So there was just no way they could make her leave. Thankfully, Faith had stepped in and talked to the nurses. They'd left her alone after that. Well, except for their room visits every half-hour to check on Angel.
Buffy wondered again if that was what had dragged her from a restless sleep. Wouldn't the nurse have woken her up? Maybe not. Or maybe she'd just imagined feeling the sheets move. It could have been her dreams, or rather nightmares, that had snapped her eyes open. The little sleep she'd managed to get was plagued with images of the night before. Some of them were instant replays of what had happened, and some of them were more violent and deadly.
As Buffy moved to run a hand through her tangled blonde hair, the sound of the sheets rustling caught her attention. This time she knew there had been movement next to her. That meant...her eyes snapped to the bed. Angel? Was he awake?
The fingers on Angel's right hand twitched, and Buffy jumped out of her chair, groaning as her stiff muscles protested. The discomfort only registered for a minute. She was too focused on the man lying prone on the bed.
"Angel? Angel? Can you hear me?" she said in a soft voice, not wanting to startle him.
For a long thirty seconds, she waited and got no reaction. Disappointment showed on her face. But then Angel's eyes slowly blinked open. Buffy thought her heart would stop at the sight. He was awake!
"Angel?" she repeated, leaning over the bed and into his line of vision.
"Bu-...B-Buffy," he croaked hoarsely.
Everything around Angel seemed fuzzy, as if encased in clouds. It was oddly psychedelic, but it was making his head ache. What was going on? Angel tried to sort through the muddled mess in his head. Something was very off, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. The pulsing pain radiating somewhere in his upper body didn't help either. He must have slept weird for his shoulder to be...
The thought trailed off. His shoulder hurt like hell. That realization made reality slam back into Angel. His shoulder! He'd been shot! The events of the night before swam through his hazy mind. He remembered seeing someone on the sidewalk near the gallery, and he'd yelled to Buffy. Then everything got all mixed up in his head. He had only vague images of the things that came after. All he knew was that he'd tried to save Buffy.
Buffy! That new thought overruled all else. Where was Buffy? Was she okay? Had she been hurt? His brows drew together as he tried to piece the situation together. Wait...he'd heard Buffy's voice just now, hadn't he? Or had that been a dream? Angel wished the fuzziness in his head would go away. It was confusing him.
"Angel?" The gentle calling of his name pulled Angel back to the present and he forced his eyes open again. This time, he could clearly see Buffy's face in front of him.
"B-Buffy?" he said again, a little more lucid this time.
"Hey," Buffy greeted him with a relieved smile.
"Wh...what..." He coughed, his throat feeling dry and a bit raw.
"Hold on; I'll get you something to drink," she offered, then rushed over to the nightstand to pour a glass of water.
Back at the bed, Buffy held the cup up to Angel, glad it had a straw so he wouldn't have to move around too much. He drank gratefully, draining nearly all the liquid. Once he was finished, she set the cup back on the nightstand before turning to him again.
"Better?" she asked.
"Yeah. Thanks," he answered, most of the hoarseness gone from his voice. "Where am I?"
"In the hospital," she told him. Considering for a moment, she asked, "do you remember what happened last night?"
"I...I think so." Angel's brows drew together again. He was pretty sure he remembered what had happened. But that was the least of his worries right now. There were more pressing matters. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," she relayed, touching his hand lightly. "You saved me. I...I'm so sorry, Angel."
Angel frowned at the tears in Buffy's eyes. Sorry? What was she sorry for? "I don't understand."
"This is all my fault!" she exclaimed, then quickly glanced at the door when she realized how loud her voice had been. When no nurses charged in to reprimand her, she looked back at Angel. "You wouldn't have been shot if it were for me."
"Buffy," Angel started to sit up and deny her claim, but the movement shot shards of pain through his shoulder and he groaned.
"You shouldn't move, Angel!" Buffy ordered, feeling more guilty because he wouldn't be hurting at all if she wasn't around.
Their conversation halted when the door leading to the hallway opened and a man in a white coat stepped into the room. He took in the scene and smiled fully.
"Well, I see my patient is awake!" Dr. Lorne Caritas said cheerfully. "That's good! No, great!" He walked up to the bed and studied Angel. "Nice to have you back with us, big fella!"
Angel eyed the man warily. Who was this weirdo? And why did he have to come in when he needed to talk to Buffy? He couldn't let her blame herself for him getting shot. It was hardly her fault that some lunatic shot him.
"I'm Doctor Lorne Caritas," the strange man introduced himself.
"Uh, hi," Angel returned.
"And how are we doing this morning?" Lorne questioned, pulling out a pen-light to look in Angel's eyes.
"Been better," grunted Angel, trying to squint to block out the bright light.
"That's to be expected." Looking at the chart at the end of the bed, Lorne nodded. "Your vitals are all good. I need to check the wound, make sure it's not growing hair or anything." At the strange looks he received from the other two people in the room, Lorne chuckled. "Just some doctor humor, but I do need to check your shoulder."
Buffy stayed in the room as Lorne removed the dressing from Angel's wound and poked and prodded it. He jotted down some notes on the chart and then put a new bandage on the shoulder. Another minute passed as he wrote some more on the chart before placing it back in the holder at the end of the bed.
"Everything is looking peachy," he explained when he'd finished his examination. "The wound is already starting to heal. If there are no complications, you should be able to go home in three or four days."
"Three or four days?" Angel bellowed, then groaned when the exertion caused him more pain.
Scowling at Angel for his lack of care to his body, Buffy turned to Lorne. "Does he really have to stay that long?" She didn't blame Angel for not being happy over the predicted length of his stay. If she were in his position, she'd want to be out of here as soon as possible. Hospitals gave her the creeps.
Lorne shook his head and sighed. "Bullet wounds aren't like you see on TV. You don't just get patched up and hop on back to your life. You're going to be in a boatload of pain, Angel, and there's a strong risk of infection. We have to monitor you to make sure a fever doesn't develop."
"Oh," Buffy mumbled. "They always make it look so easy on TV."
"That's so those big strapping men look more manly," Lorne explained. His watch beeped and he glanced down. "Well, got to run! I'll check back later!"
With that, he was gone. Angel stared at the closed door, wondering why he had to get the whacko doctor. Weren't they usually sedate and serious?
"He's, umm, a bit odd," Buffy said out loud, as she too stared at the door.
"No kidding," Angel muttered in response. Shifting on the bed, and wincing at the pull in his shoulder, Angel hoped the next three days would pass quickly. The sooner he was out of here, the better. Besides, he couldn't be of help to anyone lying in a bed. But for now, he would deal with what Buffy had said before they were interrupted. "Buffy, wh-."
"Hey Angie! I hear you're awake!" came a shout from the doorway. Angel groaned and glared at his partner as she strolled through the door.
"Faith! We're in a hospital!" Buffy reprimanded Faith on her yelling. "Sheesh!"
"Take a pill, B. If they don't like it they can kiss my," she finished off the statement by slapping her leather-clad butt. Ignoring Buffy's annoyed look, she strode over to the bed and studied Angel's bandaged shoulder. "I bet that'll leave a wicked scar!"
"Yeah, that was my goal, a scar to tell war stories over and attract chicks," he replied sarcastically, flinching away from Faith as she attempted to poke at his shoulder. A wave of dizziness swam over him and he clutched his head. What the hell kind of drugs had they given him?
"Are you okay?" Buffy questioned, stepping up to the bed.
"I think it's just the morphine or whatever they gave me," he answered, his voice wobbly.
"Why don't we leave and let you get some sleep?" she said to Faith and Angel.
"No," he shook his head, blinking against the dizziness that made him slightly nauseous. He turned to Faith. "Have you found anything out?"
"About last night?" Faith asked for clarification. At his nod, she sighed and plopped down on a chair, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her things. "Not a fucking thing."
"Nothing?" Buffy said weakly, sliding dejectedly into her own chair. She'd so hoped that the police would have caught the shooter, or at least found something out. It seemed like they knew just as much as before, which was absolutely nothing!
"By the time someone tried to go after the sicko last night, she – or he – was long gone," Faith relayed, lifting her hands helplessly. "We went over the scene with a fine tooth comb, talked to every freakin' person around, and didn't find any-damn-thing. This freak's like a phantom!"
"Damn!" Angel growled, pounding the bed with the fist on his uninjured side. How can this...this...person...keep two steps ahead of them all the time? He or she hadn't made one mistake yet, leaving them with no clues whatsoever. And every freaking day, Buffy was closer and closer to getting hurt! She'd almost been killed the night before!
"Sooner or later, we'll get the son of a bitch, Angel," Faith stated, looking determined.
"Yeah, that's if they don't get us first," he grumbled, trying his best to keep his shoulder still, and to keep his eyes open. Why was he so tired? It had to be the drugs. He certainly didn't need the rest. From what he could tell, he'd been asleep the entire night.
"They've already shot Angel," Buffy said softly, her eyes darting away from the bed where Angel lay injured.
The tone of her voice made Angel's eyes snap back to Buffy. She was blaming herself again. "This wasn't your fault, Buffy."
"This person is after me. They wanted to shoot me," she disagreed, fighting the tears building in her eyes. "You wouldn't have been shot if it weren't for me."
Buffy shook her head. How could he not say this was her fault? Her stalker didn't care about Angel. It was her they wanted. And because of that, Angel'd gotten hurt. That made it her fault. How could she live with herself knowing Angel was in that bed because of something she did? It seemed like all she ever did was hurt him. The fact that it wasn't something she actually physically did this time was a small consolation.
"Umm, right." Faith stood and walked to the door. "I'll just, uh, leave you two to sort this out." She opened the door and took a step through, but then stopped. "This wasn't your fault, B."
Watching her friend leave, Buffy's shoulders drooped. Why was she the only one who saw that?
"She's right," Angel enforced Faith's last words. "It wasn't your fault that I got shot."
"It was!" she reiterated emphatically. "You got hurt because someone wants to get to me!"
"Buffy," he reached out and took her hand. "You didn't make whoever it is shoot me or come after you. They've done everything on their own." His words seemed to have little effect. So he tried harder. "I'm a cop, Buffy. I know the risks. I would be a bad cop if I didn't. There's always a chance that something bad could happen, and I could get hurt."
The words stung, though Buffy knew they shouldn't. He'd just been doing his job. She didn't know what hurt more, knowing that Angel was shot while helping her, or that the whole reason he was there was because he was just doing his job. How in the hell had she gotten herself into such a mess? Her life had finally reached a normal, calm place a few years ago after being lost for so long. Now she was surrounded by turmoil. She absolutely hated it.
"Besides," Angel continued, his tone gentler, more personal. "I'd do anything to protect you, to keep you from getting hurt."
Buffy's mouth dropped open as her eyes jerked back to his. He didn't mean...
The door clicked open and footsteps sounded. "Buffy?"
Angel scowled. This getting interrupted by people, by phone calls, by psycho stalkers was getting to be a freakin' epidemic. There always seemed to be someone butting their nose in, whether unintentionally or not. It was really beginning to piss him off. How was he supposed to have a serious conversation with Buffy this way?
"Giles? What are you doing here?" Buffy asked, turning to her uncle as he stood hesitantly just inside the door.
"We wanted to see, umm, how Angel was doing and to see if you perhaps needed anything," the older man explained, eyes darting to Angel.
"Oh...well..the doctor thinks Angel will be fine," she responded, feeling oddly uncomfortable. Had Jenny told Giles what they'd talk about in the bathroom the night before? Was that why Giles was staring at them with a questioning gaze? Or was she just imaging that?
"Good. That's good," Giles said. "We...err...Jenny, Dawn, and I went by your apartment with Faith just before we came to the hospital and picked up some clothes for you." He held out a bag to Buffy.
"Thanks. These are, umm," she looked down at the scrubs the nurse had given her the night before. "Kinda big."
For the first time, Angel noticed that Buffy was wearing a teal shirt and pant set that some hospital workers often wore. They nearly hung off her body due to the large size. "What happened to your dress?" he suddenly asked.
"It was..." she looked away and muttered, "covered with blood."
His blood, Angel realized. The thought made him uncomfortable. And dismayed to think that the knock-out dress she'd worn to the opening had been ruined. With his blood. He shuddered at the memory of being shot. He'd been a cop for a long time, but this was the first time he'd ever been shot. It wasn't something he wanted to repeat. Ever.
"Hello, Mr. Callahan," greeted a nurse as she entered the room carrying a tray. "I've brought you some lunch."
Angel nearly rolled his eyes. Another interruption. Right on time.
A few blocks away from the hospital, a dark-clad figure entered a convenience store and headed straight for the section containing newspapers. Wallstreet...New York...Chicago...Dallas...NO, NO, NO, NO! Local news was needed, not useless crap that meant nothing.
Los Angeles. Ah, there it is.
The crinkling of paper seemed to echo through the entire store as the reader eagerly flipped through the pages, searching. It had to be there. It just had to be. Confirmation was needed. Triumph was oh-so-close. All that was needed was...
There!
The headline glared up at narrowed eyes.
"Exhibition Opening of Local Artist Marred By Shooting – see page B7 for the full story."
Pages crinkled again at the hurried turning. B5...B6...B7...
"The opening of a new exhibition by popular Los Angeles artist Buffy Summers was interrupted last night when a gun shot sounded. Miss Summers and her escort, off-duty LA police officer Liam 'Angel' Callahan, were apparently standing on the sidewalk outside the gallery when an unknown assailant fired a single shot. The bullet struck Mr. Callahan...
...hospital reports condition of the victim stable...
...Miss Summers unharmed"
Damn!
DAMN! DAMN! DAMN!
How was that possible? How could that little bitch be unharmed?
Well, no bother, the figure thought. Another plan could be formed. Last night had been hasty. The opportunity had just been too appealing. And seeing...
No. That was inconsequential. All that mattered was that the bitch paid. And she would. There was always another plan, another opportunity.
If at first you don't succeed, try again.
"No, I'm staying here," Buffy stated hotly, glaring at the group that had ganged up on her.
"Buffy, please, be reasonable," Giles tried again. He was just looking out for her!
"There's nothing you can do here," Jenny added from Giles' side.
"I can keep Angel company," she posed in defense. How could they suggest that she leave Angel when protecting her was how he'd ended up here?
Faith stepped up to Buffy and put a hand on her arm. "I'm sure Angel will be fine if you go home for a little bit, change, eat, all that crap."
"But-"
"You can come back here later," Spike offered, knowing it was probably the only way she'd agree to go. He was beginning to think Faith was right, that there was something big between these two. They were certainly acting like it.
Crossing her arms over her chest, Buffy grumbled to herself. In truth, she did feel rather dirty and gross. And she was a little hungry. She supposed she could go back to her apartment for a little bit. If it would get everyone off her back, then she might as well.
"Fine," she relented eventually.
"Good. Spike and I will go with you." When Buffy opened her mouth to disagree, Faith gave her a long stare. "You're not going by yourself, B. Not with this lunatic still out there."
Oh, right. Her stalker. For a moment, Buffy had forgotten about that. Almost. She shivered, thinking again of the night before when Angel had been shot. No, she really didn't want to encounter whoever it was on her own. But would she ever get time to herself again? Lately, she'd been surrounded non-stop by people. It was beginning – well, more than beginning – to grate on her nerves.
"I'm going to go with them," Dawn said to her aunt and uncle. She wanted to make sure Buffy was doing okay. With everything going on, they hadn't had much of a chance to talk. Years ago, that hadn't really mattered, but since Buffy had come to LA and made changes in her life, they'd been a lot closer.
"All right." Giles looked down at his watch. "We'll meet you back here at three. We really do need to return to Sunnydale. We would stay longer if we could," he said to Buffy in particular.
"It's okay," she gave him a small smile, knowing her aunt and uncle had an infant son waiting in Sunnydale.
"Well, ladies? Ready?" Spike gestured grandly to the hallway ahead of them.
After saying a quick goodbye to Jenny and Giles they headed to the elevator. The ride to the first floor was quiet, no one really knowing what to say. It wasn't every day you were involved with a stalker and a shooting. Buffy was glad to reach the lobby. She wasn't claustrophobic, but the elevator had been suffocating.
As they stepped outside, Faith and Spike talked quietly while walking to Faith's car. Dawn strode silently a foot behind Buffy, knowing her sister would talk when she was ready.
They were halfway across the parking lot when Buffy felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle. She shuddered and rubbed her arms. The feeling didn't go away. Nervously, her eyes darted all around her, searching for something, anything, that had brought on the sensation. At the back corner of the lot, near a big SUV, she saw a shadow.
Stopping dead in her tracks, Buffy stared at the spot, but it was no longer there. She blinked, squinting to see better. But there was nothing. Had the shadow actually been there? Or was her mind playing tricks? She shook her head. Maybe she just needed sleep. There wasn't anything there.
"Buffy?" Dawn touched her shoulder, noticing that Buffy flinched in reaction. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, fine," she mumbled, her eyes still watching the area where she thought she'd seen something. After another minute, she shrugged and kept following Faith and Spike. "I'm fine."
The black-clad figure laughed silently from the shadows of the vehicle. Poor little Buffy was nervous. Well, she should be.
A scowl formed at the memory of the night before. Buffy had been lucky. She wouldn't be for much longer.
TBC!
