A/N: This chapter starts to jump POV's, just letting you know.

Chapter 3

As it transpired, he didn't have long to wait. For the better part of the next hour, Schofield continued to sleep peacefully and Buck went back to scribbling in his notebook. The sunlight streamed in through the window under which he sat, warming the room until it felt like a pleasant bath enveloping them and Book felt his eyelids grow heavy.

Surely it couldn't hurt if he closed them for just a few minutes.

Several hours later, the sun was sinking, now bathing the room in the red light of early evening and Book's sleep was disturbed by the sound of something falling to the floor. He woke with a jolt and reached instinctively for his precious notebook but found it on his lap, exactly where he had left it. He only had to cast his eyes around the room to discover the culprit.
The small flannel towel that had been resting on the boy's forehead, trying to bring his fever down, was now on the floor.

Buck stretched his legs out and reached down for it. He had intended to put it back from where it had fallen off but he found it warm and stiffened with sweat. That couldn't be helping with the fever at all, he reasoned. So instead, he let himself into the surprisingly spacious adjoining bathroom – designed to accommodate a wheelchair – and rinsed it out in the sink. Soaking it in cold water again, he returned it gently to Schofield's forehead, which he was glad to feel, was much cooler. The earlier warmth had gone with the descent of the sun and with it too, it seemed, had gone the boy's undisturbed rest. He tossed and turned as much as he could in the narrow bed and murmured unintelligible words in a low moan.

It was hard to be sure without the tell-tale flickering's of eyes under eyelids but Book thought he might have been dreaming.

Carefully, trying not to scrape it noisily across the floor, Book dragged his chair across the room and sat himself beside the bed. Laying one hand gently on Schofield's exposed arm, he rubbed his thumb across it in a soothing circular motion, hushing him. If parenthood had taught him nothing else, Buck Riley knew how to banish a nightmare.
Again, he couldn't be sure but given recent events, it seemed unlikely that the boy's dreams were pleasant.

Abruptly, all sound ceased and Schofield's muscles tensed, still beneath his fingers.
He was awake.

For Schofield, it was like waking from one nightmare into another.

He had dreamt of pain and the noise of explosions, gunshots, wounded men's screams and endless rolling pain but somewhere over the top of it was a vague kindly voice he could only just make out.
And now he woke to blissful silence but impenetrable darkness.

It was disorienting, frightening, and he felt like he was drowning in it.

Shane tried to open his eyes but found them weighed down with something soft he couldn't identify. Something he was sure hadn't been there in his cupboard. He couldn't work out where he was now and why they had decided to move him. He was lost without a landmark in this sea of inky blackness. He didn't dare move for fear of falling off the edge. His breathing sped up until even he could hear it, ragged and shallow.

Out of nowhere, he registered a touch on his arm.

That worked, he could work with that. That little sensation was enough to orient himself in the utterly dark surroundings. The touch was on his left arm so if he could just wriggle what ought to be his right arm until it was pressed against his body, he managed to ascertain that he was in fact, lying down on his back. The gentle weight of sheets against what he was slowly becoming aware of as his own body confirmed it.
And of course, the touch, he wasn't alone.

As though it sensed his sudden panic, a voice cut came out of the darkness.
"It's okay lieutenant," it said, "you're safe now."

The same voice, he recognised, from his dreams.

'Where am I,' was what he meant to say but when he tried to speak, he found his voice unwilling to cooperate. Whatever he managed to say, the other person must have got the idea because he replied, "You're in John Hoskins Hospital in Maryland."

Maryland. Then he was in America.

His voice was hoarse but this time, at least, the single word he managed was understandable.
"Who?"

Again, the voice which he decided was definitely a man's and coming from his left side, the same side as the touch, replied.
"My name's Buck," it said, "I'm a marine too. Now don't panic but I'm going to let go of your arm and go find a nurse. They'll be glad to know you're awake. You've had us all very worried."

The touch retracted and Shane immediately felt lost in the darkness again, as though his anchor had been removed. He flung out an arm in the vain hope of catching the marine called Buck's arm but based on the muffled oomph that issued from where he ought to have been standing, it sounded like he had hit him in the stomach instead.

"Don't," he managed to croak out.

"Okay," Buck said and it sounded like he was smiling, "I won't go anywhere. I'm just going to hit the call button and I'll be right here the whole time."

Schofield heard the scuffle of a chair against a hard floor before the touch on his now sore arm returned. As awareness of his body returned, so too had the pain which flooded it. It coiled around his limbs and settled in his chest like a dead, heavy weight. Lifting his chest with every breath felt like such an effort as the pain flared up like bands constricting him before settling back to a throbbing ache that thrummed through his whole body. It was sharp at some points - the crook of his elbow, his left shoulder- like little pricks of needles and knives and the occasional hot poker.

He tried to remember how it was he had received all these injuries.

His memories were still pretty fuzzy but he thought he could recall a failed warning light and an explosion on what should have been a routine run. From there, it was only pain and hunger and hunger and pain. There was one sharp memory, perfectly recalled, but he pushed that away. He didn't want to remember that just yet. Even though he knew he should have tried to stay awake, his head was so heavy and he couldn't struggle against the warm weight covering his eyes.
Shane Schofield fell back into oblivion.

Not for the first time and certainly not for the last, Buck Riley cursed the bandages that obscured Schofield's eyes. He couldn't tell if the boy was simply quiet by nature or by injury – by the sound of it, his voice wasn't quite up to scratch yet – or if he had in fact fallen asleep again. The way his breathing had evened out seemed to suggest the latter option and though Book certainly didn't begrudge him the sleep after all he had been through, the nurse had just popped her head in to say that the eye doctor was on his way up now that their patient was awake.
Only he wasn't anymore and Book didn't want to wake him up.

He needn't have worried however as the doctor didn't show up for over an hour at which point the boy was in the grips of another nightmare and Buck had no hesitations whatsoever about tearing him from it. His mumblings as he thrashed about in the bed were becoming increasingly clearer and Book found he could make out distinct words amidst the moans.

"No," "Stop," "hurts."

Buck was more than glad to be able to make them stop at least in dreams though it was slightly disconcerting when his muscles tensed and he pitched bolt upright, breathing heavily, but without the tell-tale flung open eyes that usually signalled a return to consciousness. For a moment, he sat dead still as though trying to recollect where he was but then he slumped back against the pillow.
Book kept a firm hand on his shoulder the whole time.

"You still there?" Schofield asked and Buck was glad to hear his voice sounded stronger.

"Course," he replied simply. "Doctor's here to see you. Shall I let him in?"

The injured marine paused to consider but eventually nodded and said, "better get it over with, hear the worst."

Book squeezed his shoulder gently, knowing it was the injured one, before leaving his side to open the door. In the few seconds it took for him to cross the room, the boy looked lost again without his anchor. Buck couldn't imagine what it must feel like to be deprived of one of your senses, especially one you relied on so much. To have seen the world and then to wake up in the strange world of dark, it hardly bore thinking about.

Whilst he let himself back into his chair in the corner, the doctor stood at the foot of the bed and the accompanying nurse bustled around, checking his bandages and temperature. When she was satisfied, she gave the doctor a curt nod and he cleared his throat.

"Shane," he began, "my name is Dr. Klein and I'm the eye surgeon in charge of your case."

Although Buck had picked up his notebook again, he was listening intently to every word the doctor said – as he explained the nature and extent of the damage; and what they had been able to do so far to try and fix it. He was lucky, he said. The damage apparently, was fairly shallow. The majority of his eye and optic nerve was untouched. He was never in danger of losing his eyes.

Just his sight, Book thought but he didn't say anything.

They had been able to fuse the wounds together, the doctor continued in his flat monotonous voice as though he was simply commenting on the weather. Although Schofield clearly couldn't see him, he was staring straight at the centre of the doctor's starched white coat, taking in every word.
"But will I see again?" He interrupted.

The doctor looked startled for a moment but simply cleared his throat and continued on as though he hadn't spoken.
"The fusion was stage one," he said. "When we remove the bandages in several weeks' time, we will be able to evaluate how effective the fusion was and if it is successful, then we may be able to restore full or partial sight to you in the second stage laser procedure. We won't know for sure until the bandages are removed."

When Schofield nodded his understanding, the doctor left, taking the nurse with him. Book was unsure of what to say so instead, he opened his notebook and started to write, leaving the boy to his thoughts.

Book had heard it said that when you lose one sense the others begin to compensate for it. Perhaps it was the soft scratch of the pen on paper but barely a moment passed before Schofield looked up, not quite straight at him but certainly in his general direction and asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm writing," he replied simply.

"What are you writing?" Schofield asked, not to be put off.

"A book," Book sighed.

He expected the kid to laugh like everyone else did when they discovered his hobby. What on earth could a marine possibly want to write about? Actually, how many marines could even write for that matter?

But he didn't.
Instead, he cocked his head to one side inquisitively.
"What's it about?"

"It's a murder mystery," Book replied, "set in the Protectorate period in 17th century England."

Again, he expected the boy to laugh but he seemed genuinely interested and Book seized on the topic. He happily explained the decline in royal power following the Tudor succession and the uprising of the common people who managed to overthrow the monarchy and declare England a republic. It was a dark period in English history, he explained, a time of anarchy and chaos.
"And out of it all," he said, "A man by the name of Oliver Cromwell installed himself as Lord Protector in the place of a king."

Schofield listened patiently but Book sensed there was something else he wanted to say. Falling silent himself, he waited for the younger man to open up.
"I thought I heard your voice in my dreams," he said eventually.

"I was reading to you," Buck replied, "thought it might help."

Of all the things he had said so far, Riley thought this was by far the stupidest but when he looked up at Schofield again, for the first time, he saw a small but genuine smile spread across the lower part of his face not covered by bandages.

"My Nana used to read to me every night when I was small," he said softly, looking – without seeing – at his lap.

Which was when it hit Buck. Of course the kid would have family too but where were they? Why weren't they here?