She was shaking - the girl in his arms. She couldn't have been more than sixteen, and was a little thing. She was heavier, of course, than any of Noah's own children, but she felt like nothing in his arms. Biting back sounds of pain, Noah situated himself on the curb, still holding the girl close. He didn't know what was happening with the other car, but he hoped someone else would help them. At the moment, he felt compelled to keep the girl in his arms as okay as he could until professional help arrived.
Dimly, he heard the sounds of sirens in the distant, rising quietly above the sounds of the city in the evening. But even that didn't register. He was focused on listening to the girl breathe. She didn't seem too horribly hurt, outwardly. But it was internal injuries he was worried about. Who knew how hard she'd hit her head? - She had blood running down her face in streaks. It had smeared and stuck to Noah's white work shirt, but he didn't care. His own blood was mingling in, no doubt. He wondered vaguely for a moment where his cigarette had gone.
Had he dropped it? All he knew was that he no longer had it.
But then the girl began to cry. The pain flared out from Noah's shattered elbow as he shifted the girl, removing his arm so he could brush some of her hair from where it was sticking to blood on her face. His mouth was set in a firm line and he felt ill. He felt exhausted. More so than he had felt in a long time. His body, although the adrenaline still hummed through his veins, wanted to simply lie down and sleep. People were coming up and talking to him, asking him things, but he didn't answer them. He hardly even knew they were there.
The girl seemed as if she was going to pass out. Her breathing was starting to catch and her eyes were unfocused. "Hey," Noah said gruffly, tapping her cheek sharply with his hand. His brow furrowed. His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose and he pushed them back up, wincing again as his left elbow throbbed. "If I can't sleep, you can't sleep."