Disclaimer: Characters not mine; Albarn and Hewlett's. Idea, however, totally mine (I doubt they'd want to claim it).
Rating: NC-17 for angst and Murdoc/2-D slashiness in later chapters.
Notes: And here's where we get to the actual 'plot' part of the… um… plot. We must all remember to be careful with our jukeboxes, 'cuz they're always looking for a good time to explode. And that can be a bad, bad thing.
In a related note, this chapter was a bitch to write. Getting through the hospital scene with the nurse and doctor? Was hell. I was so damned glad to get Russel into the room. It simplified things immensely to be writing the established characters.
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"Mr. Niccals, please." The nurse sounded more harassed that morning than usual… possibly because Murdoc was putting up more of a struggle that morning than usual.
"Look, 'm not int'rested in getting out of bed, awright?"
"But, Mr. Niccals, Doctor says it's time to start workin' on your muscles, wakin' 'em up."
"Not. Bloody. Int'rested."
There was a frustrated sigh, then the sound of the nurse walking away. Murdoc leaned back in the imposed blackness, and then reached one hand up to brush his fingertips lightly across the bandages over his eyes. He'd gotten good at picking up sounds in the last two weeks, mainly because he had to - there wasn't much else to do but listen when you were blind.
The door popped open and Murdoc recognized the tread of Dr. Westby, the surgeon who had operated on Murdoc when he'd arrived at the hospital two weeks before. Dr. Westby's footsteps were easier to pick out than some people's - the man moved liked he had a purpose, always going quickly from one spot to another. Today was no different.
"Mr. Niccals, Jenny tells me you're being difficult." The man sounded fully American, perhaps 50 or so. And, at the moment, very annoyed.
Good.
"Look, Doc, I've told 'er an' now I'm tellin' you - I am not int'rested in gettin' out of this hospital bed, unless I am being allowed to get out of 'ere."
"Well, that's just it, Mr. Niccals… we plan to discharge you at the end of the week. However, we can't do that until you strengthen your muscles. Two weeks of bed rest have undoubtedly left them -"
"Hold on… yer lettin' me go? Then… I get to get this soddin' bandage off too, yeah?" Murdoc sat up straighter in his bed, turning his head toward Dr. Westby, trying to hear him better.
"Mr. Niccals, I've explained this before. The damage to your eyes was significant. Technology has advanced quite a bit in the last few years and I did manage to remove all the plastic shards from your eyes, but if you are going to stand any chance of regaining your vision, your eyes will need time to heal. You'll have those bandages on for another three weeks."
"Well, then why're you lettin' me out?"
"Because your band mates are worried about you and are willing to take care of you while you are convalescing."
Murdoc's face twisted into a grimace. "Wait… I'm s'posed to let them take care'a me? How daft d'ya think I am?"
"Daft enough to help out an upset friend, perhaps? A tall, skinny, blue-haired fellow has been showing up every day looking like walking death. He thinks he caused your accident, and I think it would do a world of good if you'd let him try to help you."
"Wot, 2-D? Let 'im help me jus'ta ease 'is conscience? Maybe the accident wosn't 'is fault, but if 'e accident'ly kills me, how will that 'elp 'im?" Murdoc leaned back in the bed, arms crossed.
"I wouldn't worry about that. You won't be on any medication -"
"Where's the fun in that?" Murdoc muttered softly.
"- and you won't need any bed rest or special care. Honestly, your band mates will only need to be there to help you when you want them to."
"D'ruther not."
"Suit yourself. You will, however, cooperate with Jenny when she comes back in to exercise your legs. You need to wake the muscles up. Besides, this afternoon I plan to start allowing you visitors, and I think you'd be happier to greet people if you've had a shower."
"But I was enjoyin' the sponge baths," Murdoc murmured to the sound of Dr. Westby heading out the door of the room.
Left alone for a moment, Murdoc considered the doctor's words sourly. So what if 2-D was upset? He hadn't been potentially blinded by an exploding jukebox. Besides, maybe 2-D deserved a good rollicking session with guilt. After all, it had been 2-D's blow that had caused the jukebox to explode. Moreover, it was 2-D's jukebox that had exploded. If the little wanker wanted to get all soggy over it… except that a guilty 2-D might think he needed to quit to band to make amends. He was daft enough to try something like that.
"And a band wiffout a singer is less a band an' more elevator music," Murdoc mumbled, dark eyebrows lowering toward the white bandage strapped over his eyes.
Murdoc's thoughts were interrupted by the opening of the door. He allowed himself to be bustled out of bed and hauled around the room - although his legs trembled so badly at first that he thought he'd end up going arse over tit. He was so distracted by his weakness after a two-week period of nothing but bed rest that he didn't even try to tempt Jenny into a few hours of fun to pass the time. Besides, since he couldn't see her to judge her appearance, he risked her being a minger.
Jenny left him in a chair while she changed the sheets on his bed. Once again, his mind rolled over the problem of 2-D's guilt. While the sounds of the bed being stripped and remade filled the background, Murdoc frowned to himself and considered.
If 2-D left, Murdoc knew he would have to try and find a new pretty face to front the band. It wouldn't be too hard… but frankly, he didn't want to. There was the simple fact that he didn't like the idea of spending time and effort to find a new front man, and there was the not-so-simple fact that he didn't like the idea of 2-D leaving.
'True, he's an idiot… but he's my id -' Murdoc cut that thought off quickly, stuffing it down someplace where it wouldn't disturb him again… hopefully.
"Okay, Mr. Niccals, I'm goin' t'walk you to t'shower now and show you where to find soap and shampoo. Try not to get y'bandage wet; we'll be changing it after yer shower, but it'll be better if y'try to keep it dry. If you need any assistance, pull this cord," Jenny carefully put his hand on a rope of material next to the shower, "and a male orderly will give you some 'elp."
"Thanks, Sister," Murdoc muttered, still running his mind over the problem at hand.
Going back to Kong Studios was tempting… anything to be out of the sterile hospital environment. However, going back and expecting 2-D, Russel, and Noodle to take care of him while he was blind…
By the time he'd finished his shower and been tucked back into his bed, he was no closer to a decision. He listened as Jenny turned the lights off and shut the blinds, trying to make the room as dim as possible before changing the bandages over his eyes.
He couldn't help feeling disappointed when Jenny removed the tape and gauze and he didn't see even the faintest lightening of the darkness behind his eyes. He had been warned that his eyes would need time to heal, but any glimmer of light would have been welcome. After all, who the hell wanted to be blind forever?
The new bandages applied to his eyes felt smaller and less bulky than the old ones. Undoubtedly, they were smaller for aesthetic reasons.
"Y've got a visitor," Jenny said cheerfully. "Shall I show 'im in?"
Murdoc gave his okay, and a moment later he heard a familiar voice.
"Hey, man, how're y'feelin'?" Russel sounded uncomfortable, concerned, hopeful… all at the same time.
'Quite a talent,' Murdoc thought dryly.
"I'm about knackered, Russel, if y'want the truth. I've been stuck in bed for two weeks and this mornin' I was ordered t' 'ave a quick jog 'round the room. And according to the sister, Doctor 'spects me to move back to the Studio at the end of the week."
"Really? Well, D will be happy t'hear that," Russel replied, cheering up considerably.
"Been upset, 'as 'e?" Murdoc questioned, unable to hide the pleasure in his voice at the idea of 2-D getting his knickers in a twist.
"He's been almost insane, Muds. Don't get happy 'bout it, 'cause he's been bad. I think he's lost ten pounds in the last two weeks, and on him, that's just scary."
Murdoc pictured 2-D, who normally looked nearly emaciated, after losing ten pounds. It was, indeed, not a pretty picture.
"Then why isn't 'e 'ere, showin' his support and wotall?"
"He and Noodle ran down to get something to eat about thirddy minutes ago. He's been here every day since the accident, hopin' to get in and talk to you. He's really eaten up by it. You should say somethin' to him when he gets back."
Murdoc snorted. "Wot, like 'thanks for blindin' me, mate, 's a great gift but I'll take the consolation prize next time'?"
Russel's reply was quick, and his voice was tight. "Don't say that shit around D, man, I mean it. He's had a hard time lately."
"While I've just been havin' tea, 's that it?" Murdoc growled in reply.
"I know you've had a hard time the last few weeks… we all know. I can't imagine how it'd feel to know I might be blind forever -"
"Yer a great comfort, mate, 'm so glad you came to visit," Murdoc interrupted dryly.
"But," Russel continued, unfazed by Murdoc's sarcasm, "the rest of us have had it hard, too. Noodle and I got home right after the accident. D'you know what it was like to go down to the garage and see the two of you in the doorway to D's room, covered in blood?"
Murdoc hadn't actually thought of 2-D being on the receiving end of any of the shrapnel from the jukebox - he'd assumed since 2-D wasn't vacationing in a hospital room, he was fine. He felt a niggle of worry, but Russel was going on.
"Noodle and I didn't know what to do. 2-D was half out of his mind, screamin' and craddlin' you. And you, man… your face was… Noodle saved the day. She was the one that called for an amb'lance while I was still standin' there."
Russel sighed, and Murdoc heard him pacing the room. "When we got here, I thought the hospital staff was nevuh gonna pry you outta 2-D's grip. And when they did, he refused to let anyone work on him until he knew how you were. They triedta convince him, but he scared 'em off. I've never seen a skinny white guy scare people so easily, but he was out of his mind, man. He wasn't movin' until he knew if you were gonna live."
Murdoc hadn't heard any of this before. Obviously, the doctors and nurses had tried to keep things light, glossing over the actual state he'd been in when he'd arrived. He hadn't stopped to think that he may have worse off than he'd assumed.
"He's been cartin' himself around the Studio like death onnuh stick for two weeks, Muds, and I think it's time y'talked to him."
"Well, I never said I wouldn't, did I?" Murdoc replied waspishly.
"I can see getting a jukebox in y'face didn't detract from y'personality none," Russel replied. Murdoc felt a large, warm hand clasp his shoulder gently. "Glad to see you alive, man. But I think Ah'm gonna step outside and let the two of you talk now."
"The two of who?" Murdoc asked, turning his bandaged face toward the door; he hadn't heard anyone approach, and he'd gotten damned good at listening for things lately.
"'Ello, Murdoc." The high, tremulous voice of 2-D was impossible to mistake, as were the retreating footsteps of Russel and the muted clicking of the door behind pulled shut as the drummer exited. "Are you… okay?"