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Angel hadn't stopped protesting since she got behind the wheel of the car. Buffy didn't know what hurt him more, the beating he'd taken or her driving.
“Buffy, clutch, then gear! Clutch, then gear!” he said.
With no regard to his increasingly desperate pleas, Buffy ignored the clutch and shifted the gear stick. Angel winced as the grinding crunch of metal on metal echoed from the gearbox. Buffy thought the colour actually drained from his face under the mottled bouquet of bruises that had started to bloom across his cheeks and jawline.
“Since when are you such a car bro?” she asked.
“Since they were invented," he said, fingers digging into the seat. "Christ! Watch the lampost!”
Oops!
Buffy swerved from the sidewalk, crossing over into the lane of oncoming traffic. A cacophony of horns erupted around them.
She remained undeterred and allowed the car to slowly roll to a stop on the wrong side of the street. The front left wheel perched perilously on the pavement, while the rest of the car jutted awkwardly into the road.
The car now parked to her satisfaction, Buffy turned to Angel, the triumphant expression on her face met the breathless horror of his.
“See, I told you I could get us here in one piece.”