A/N: I work in a hospital and I can tell you for real that they are the most multicultural places you've ever set foot in. The nurses are always the most incredibly interesting mixture and truly, special people. Seriously, it takes an incredible person to clean up poo and vomit and smelly bandages all day with a smile.
And we have one more reference to my favourite book in this chapter. It's long and obvious. Now if you don't get it, I will be disappointed.
Chapter 4
As the days turned into weeks, Buck Riley continued to visit Shane in the hospital daily and he began to fall into the routine of it. The little Philipino woman who brought around tea and cake had finally realised Book didn't like tea and now had a strong cup of coffee waiting for him. She always saved a chocolate cake for the handsome young marine she had become rather fond of and Schofield always smiled shyly and thanked her sincerely.
Book was familiar with all the different nurses now.
There was Marilee from the Deep South with her two little boys she was working to put through college. She was black as night with a smile a mile wide and despite her kindliness and easy reassuring laugh that she had seen it all before, Schofield still blushed something terrible when she helped him in and out of the shower in the morning.
In the afternoon, there was the bustle of the older and more severe matron in charge who accompanied the doctor on his brief rounds, as well as the young physiotherapist who helped Shane move down the corridor to sit in the sunny lounge room for a little while and told him off for not doing his deep breathing exercises. With the aid of a few guiderails and Book's always available arm, Schofield was actually getting remarkably good at getting himself around the place.
So much so that the young physio had to warn him not to run away now.
And then there was Kelly, recently emigrated from Ireland who always worked the night shift because she didn't want to sleep alone.
But most remarkable at all was how Shane could tell each person apart by the tread of their feet and the smell of their perfume before they'd even spoken. His ears would prick up and he was becoming uncannily good at following people around the room with his sightless, covered eyes. Slowly, the machines were unhooked and the lines removed one by one until he was left with only the single cannula into his hand. He was healing and still, no one had come to visit him other than Book.
If it upset Schofield, he didn't show it.
The morning of the great reveal came, the bandages were removed and Schofield's eyes declared suitably well healed to attempt the laser procedure on that might be able to restore his sight. Nobody thought to mention to Schofield himself the scarring on the skin that was revealed without the bandages. He didn't need to know just yet, they reasoned. There would be time later and he should be allowed this moment to be happy and hopeful that he might yet see again. Then, he could see them for himself.
It should have been a happy day and so Buck ducked down to visit the hospital gift store to pick up something to celebrate with. Just as he had hoped, they had a large tray full of shabby second hand paperbacks, 3 for $5. He picked out the three he wanted and whistled all the way back up to Schofield's room. As he walked in, he waved the first book in the air, knowing that even if he couldn't see it, Shane would hear the rustle of the pages.
"Thought we might give this a try," he said cheerily but then stopped dead.
There was another person in the room.
He was tall and powerfully built, wearing a khaki marine service uniform and a look of deep regret on his face. One hand rested on Schofield's shoulder in what Book supposed was supposed to be a comforting way. For his part, Schofield just sat slumped against the bed looking more crestfallen then Book had yet seen him.
The man gave Schofield's shoulder one last swift squeeze before saying, "I'm sorry Shane," and swept from the room with a curt nod to Buck on his way past.
Book couldn't help it, he had to follow him. Maybe this man could give him some answers about Schofield. Despite the fact that Book had discovered that Shane was a well and truly likeable young man - quiet at the best of times but always polite and always ready to give something a go, the nurses loved him and he had certainly grown on Book - he remained an enigma. But here was someone who actually knew him, who might be able to answer some of the questions that Shane himself wouldn't.
"Oi," Buck called down the corridor at the retreating marine coat, "wait up."
To his surprise, the man stopped and turned around. Jogging down the corridor, Book held out his hand and the man shook it firmly. Book stopped still as his own brown eyes met piercingly sharp blue ones and he realised that he had met this man once before. On the briefing deck of the U.S.S. Wasp, right before he was sent in to Bosnia to go and retrieve the very same young man in the bed a few doors down.
This was Jack Walsh.
Even away from his ship, Walsh exuded intelligence and authority, not earned by virtue of the bars on his shoulder – everyone knew Jack Walsh had a healthy disdain for that sort of authority – but in the way he carried himself and by virtue of his reputation. Here was a commander who demanded nothing less than the very best from his men – and whose men were happy to give it.
Buck could see why Walsh's soldiers loved serving under him.
He also knew that Walsh had put his career on the line to get Schofield out of Bosnia and he wanted to know why.
"Sir," he sat, snapping a brief salute.
"At ease, soldier," Walsh replied and Book was surprised.
He sounded weary, defeated.
Although there were a couple of chairs nearby – actually, chairs were scattered at even lengths along the hospital corridors for easy access in the event of a faint – Walsh didn't motion for them to sit down. He didn't even smile.
"You knew the lieutenant well?" He ventured.
Inwardly, he immediately winced at his thoughtless use of the past tense. The kid was still alive for Christ sake's.
Book could've sworn Walsh sighed.
"As well as anyone," he replied. "He kept mostly to himself in his off hours but he was friendly and popular all the same. He's a dab hand at karaoke apparently. He and a few of the other lads used to use their shore time actually seeing the world and not just its varied wildlife."
Having never spent an extended period of time on a ship, Book was slightly confused.
"Hookers," Walsh clarified with a grunt somewhere between disapproval and amusement. "Well, if they will try and send young men to sea but that's beside the point. More than a good kid, he was a damn good pilot. Instinctive. He flew like the plane was an extension of his body."
For the first time, Book saw Walsh crack a smile.
"He flew some crazy shit" he reminisced, "and somehow always got out of it okay. You can't buy that sort of courage."
Of course, now the past tense was intentional because Riley, Walsh and even Schofield himself knew he would never fly again, whether he would see again or no.
The brief smile was gone and Walsh looked older than ever.
"Now if you don't mind," a hint of bitterness crept into Walsh's voice, "It's been a tough day. I've had to ground my best pilot permanently. I'm going to go home and drink away my sorrows. I only wish Schofield could do the same."
"Wait," Book interrupted. "Doesn't he have family?"
He could've sworn Walsh almost laughed.
"Of course he's got a family," he said, "and you've heard of them."
Book was momentarily confused when it hit him.
Schofield.
As in, the famous Michael Schofield.
Hell, he'd even seen the kid's middle name on the mountains of hospital paperwork.
Walsh watched comprehension dawn on Book's face before continuing, "His grandparents live way out in the middle of mountain country. There's no way they'll make it here and for all I know, his parents could be dead. He never got letters or phone calls from them that's for sure."
"Friends then?" Book insisted, knowing he was pushing his luck.
Walsh had already turned to leave but he stopped still abruptly. When he turned back to face Buck, his face was blazing hard.
"Sure he had friends but pilots are a superstitious bunch and there's nothing unluckier than a downed plane. His old life is over and the sooner he gets used to that, the better."
Walsh swung his peaked cap back onto his head and with a curt nod, Book watched him walk out of the hospital.
As he let himself back into Schofield's room, Book saw the light catch on something small and silver he was turning over in his hand despondently.
It was his wings.
Even though he couldn't see it, Schofield's fingers traced every inch of the well-known insignia.
Book couldn't think of anything to say to Shane as his world crumbled around him. Everything he had ever worked for had been taken from him in the blink of an eye. No words he could think of could offer any degree of comfort, but he knew someone else's that just might work.
Picking up the third of the well-thumbed books, he flipped through towards the end until he found. Clearing his throat quickly, he began to read.
"There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach."
When he set the book down again, he looked up to find Shane staring at him with sightless eyes.
"Now, I'm a damn sight less eloquent than that," Book said sternly, "But it seems to me as if you've got a choice to make and it isn't an easy one but I reckon you've got the strength to make it. It's choices like these that shape our lives proper. You're lucky to be alive, lucky to be even able to make a choice and it's that that'll make all the difference. So you can sit here and wallow in the blackness or you can take what's left of your life and make something new of it. You never know, it might turn out to be the best thing you've ever done."
Book thought he might just have seen the edge of Schofield's lips quirk into something resembling a smile.
When he spoke, it was soft.
"Can we start that book from the beginning?"
Buck just smiled.
"Course."