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Betad by seapealsh and dawnofme. Banner by dawnofme!
Spike hiccoughed himself to a stop and then stiffened beneath Oz's hand.

"Oh…shite…uh…not sure where that came from." His face gained a little colour as embarrassment set in.

"Hey, man, don't worry about it. It's normal. I'm guessing that's the first time…?" Oz's matter of fact voice was so different from Spike's mother's.

Spike nodded and, wiping his red-rimmed eyes with the back of his hand, he unfurled his legs and sat up straighter. Oz took that as his cue to take his hand away and went over to resume his place on the armchair.

"Yeah. Stupid. Crying like a baby."

"It's grief."

"What? Nobody's dead."

"You're grieving over the loss of your sight. It's normal…though most do it within the first few weeks. Your mother said the accident was about five months ago."

"Uh…it was on the seventeenth of May at six-forty-seven. Is that really five months ago?" It felt like years since his life had changed so dramatically.

"Yeah. Today's October tenth." He glanced at his watch. "Eight-twenty-two."

"Some nurse you are – you're taking the piss." The corners of Spike's mouth twitched as he tried not to smile. Being spoken to like that made him feel normal.

Spike could hear Oz's shrug in the tone of his voice. "It just seemed as if you had a thing about times. How do you know to the minute, anyway?"

"Police report."

Oz could see Spike beginning to close down again. "Don't take this the wrong way, but are you an alcoholic?"

Spike's eyes widened in surprise. "No. What sort of bloody question is that? The accident wasn't my fault!"

"Hey…calm down. That's not why I asked. It's just your mom told me that the liquor was all locked away so I figured…"

"It's locked away, because you can't get drunk in your condition, sweetie. You already fall over the furniture – just think how much worse it would be if you were drunk."

Oz chuckled at Spike's impersonation of his mother. "Well as your nurse, I really think you should talk about the accident, and I think a large slug of brandy or something would be medicinal, don't you?"

"God…what I wouldn't give for some JD."

Spike closed his eyes and remembered the last time he'd been out for a drink. Shite, he'd been so wasted, the lads had had to carry him back to their flat. They were on the other side of the Atlantic now. Gone. Just like his vision.

"I'll see what I can do."

"You're gonna break into her drinks cabinet? What sort of nurse are you?"

"She showed me where she'd hidden the key – in case it looked like you might find it." The leather creaked as Oz stood up. "As for what sort of a nurse…" His voice was fading as he strode out of the room. "…a damn good one."

"Modest, too," muttered Spike.

He wondered what Oz looked like. That was something he found difficult, having no idea what people looked like.

A few minutes later, Oz returned. Spike could hear the chink of ice against the crystal and swore he could smell the liquor as Oz entered the room.

"Don't tell on me, okay? Don't want to be fired." Oz placed the glass in Spike's outstretched hand.

"Don't worry, I won't grass you up." Spike took a deep swallow of the fiery liquid and rested the cool glass against his forehead as it warmed him on its way down.

"So, what happened?"

"Nothing too dramatic. I'm sure Mum would have liked it to be a bit more spectacular. Was just a car crash."

One he relived in his dreams most nights.

"I was over in England. My mum and dad had divorced when I was fifteen. Dad managed to persuade Mum to let me finish my education over there. She didn't take too much persuading. Wasn't too worried about not having a snot-nosed kid cramping her style. I came over here for holidays, well, until I was twenty, I did."

"What happened then?" The ice in Oz's glass chinked as he drank. No need to tell Spike that his drink was just mineral water.

Spike's expression clouded. "My Dad died. He'd been ill for years, and I'd never do anything to upset him. So I did as I was told and spent holidays over here, but when he was gone there was nothing to make me come. I hadn't been to the States after that until now."

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah… he was a good bloke. Anyway, I stayed over there. I had this old car – a classic – Ford Anglia – like a small version of the big US cars. God, I loved that car. Could go like shit too. It was so old it didn't have seat belts fitted. I kept meaning to get some put in, but…" He took another gulp at his drink. "I was driving to a gig – punk band called Stiff Little Fingers – and this kid ran out into the road chasing a ball." He closed his eyes. "I didn't think about anything apart from not hitting him. I hauled on the wheel and the last thing I remember is seeing the boy's face as I passed him."

"So you saved his life…"

"Yeah. Got a letter from his mum. The nurses read it out to me, when I woke up a couple of weeks later. I'd hit the side of a building head on – literally. With no seatbelt I went through the windscreen. They say it was a miracle I survived."

Spike's tone left Oz in no doubt that Spike wished he hadn't.

"Mum was listed as my next of kin, and when the docs over there said I'd never see again, she insisted on seeing specialists here. But they said the same. The optic nerves have been irreparably damaged. No hope of a cure. So here I am."

"Damn."

Spike snorted. "Yeah."

"So what do you do all day?"

"What do you mean?" Spike tipped his head on one side.

"How do you pass the time? Aren't you bored?"

"Not a lot I can do, mate. I'm no fucking use to anyone."

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"I just didn't peg you as one, that's all," Oz said.

Spike drained the last of his JD. "One, what?"

"A quitter."

"Fuck off." Spike's fist tightened around the glass. "I'm not a quitter. It's just…I'm fucking BLIND!"

"So?" Oz's voice was quiet and calm.

"So? So?" Spike spluttered. "So…I can't do anything. I'm stuck here. Even need a babysitter when there's no one else home!"

"No, Spike. Your mother has you stuck here and you're letting her do it."

"Get out! Now! Just go!"

"I'll be in the living room. You're blind. Not dead. You need to live, not just exist."

Oz walked out of the room, casting a glance back at the man he hoped he'd goaded out of his apathy. When Spike's mother had contacted the hospital wanting the name of a good private nurse, the doctor had contacted Oz and told him of the overbearing mother and the still-in-shock man who needed to learn to live again. It was the sort of case that Oz relished.

Spike sat there breathing heavily as he tried to control his emotions. What gave Oz the right to speak to him like that? It's not like it was true. He wasn't a quitter.

Aren't you?

"Oh, don't you start," Spike muttered at the little voice in his head.

Five minutes later, he stood up.

"Quitter! I'll fucking show him."

He held onto the back of the chair as he began to make his way to the door. His mother's tendency to move things had eroded what little confidence he'd had about walking around. Sure enough, his shin caught on a footstool that Spike hadn't even known was in the room.

"Ow…bollocks."

Slowly he made his way to the door and then kept his fingertips touching the wall as he went down the corridor. The fourth door was open and Spike paused for a moment. The living room was the worst place for moving furniture. He never had a clue as to what was where. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside and moved to the left a little before Oz's voice made him stop dead.

"Table! There's a coffee table there. Hold on. I'll help you."

Spike could feel a blush heat the skin of his neck. Would he ever get used to this? He heard Oz's approach and waited for the man to grab his arm as his mother did, but to his surprise he didn't.

"Uh…are you going to help me, or what?"

"Sure. I'm waiting for you to take my arm. Just reach out with your right and you'll find me."

"Oh…right."

Spike hesitantly moved his hand and his fingers touched Oz's cotton covered arm. Oz guided Spike's hand to his elbow.

"It's easier if you hold here, and then walk with me, okay?"

"Okay."

"Trust me."

Spike nodded.

By the time they'd reached the couch, Spike's strides had become less hesitant as his confidence in not actually falling over something increased.

"Thanks," Spike said as he sat down.

"How come you don't know the layout of the room by now?"

"My mother gets bored of things in the same place. Just when I suss out where everything is, she changes it. And before you ask why I haven't got a stick, the hospital gave me one, but she took it off me. Said I didn't need it, but I reckon she just didn't like watching me using it."

"She's a piece of work," Oz said, his usually even voice having a bit of an edge to it.

"Hey! That's my mum you're dissing," Spike said. "But you're right. I think she likes the idea of having me here. Something to tell her friends about."

"We need to get you set up with some things that will help you. I didn't see a computer in your room…there are plenty of programs for you to use on one, so you're not so cut off. We need to get you another cane if we can't get your mother to leave things were they are."

As Oz went over all the things that he needed, Spike began to feel hope that his life might have more meaning for the first time since he'd woken up in the English hospital.

"What time is it?" Spike asked suddenly.

"Watch – that's another thing for the list," said Oz, making Spike chuckle. "It's almost midnight. Are you tired? Do you want to go to your bedroom?"

"I'm not tired. But I do want to go to my bedroom."

"Huh?"

"Before she gets back, will you help me go to my old bedroom – the one upstairs?"

"Sure. She said she wouldn't be home until around one."

"Great." Spike stood up, his hand already seeking Oz's elbow.

Once he had hold of him, Oz walked slowly to the door.

"Which way do we go?"

"To the right. The stairs are in the main foyer. Then my room's third on the left."

"Okay."

They walked along in silence for a while before Spike said, "You're not very tall are you?"

Oz chuckled. "Neither are you! But yeah, I'm a little shorter than you. I'm also stockier and my hair is dyed a weird sort of orangey colour."

"You're joking!"

"I wish I was. It was supposed to be bright red but something went wrong."

"Christ, I would've loved to have seen Mum's face when she saw you. She freaked the first time I came home for the holidays with bleached hair." The laughter died in his throat. He'd never see anyone's expression again.

"Think it was only the personal recommendation from your doctor that got me in the door." He stood still. "We're here."

Spike fumbled for the handle and then pushed the door open.

"There's nothing in your way if you go straight forward," said Oz.

"Thanks."

Spike stepped inside and turned his head from side to side, his mind's eye filling in what he couldn't actually see. The shelf heaving with battered paperbacks. The posters of his favourite bands. The black and red cover on his bed. The acoustic guitar on its rack in the corner. He swivelled round to face Oz.

"What's it look like? She hasn't done it out, has she? My stuff's still here?"

"Well, unless she's a secret emo then no – I think it's still all you."

"Thank God for that." He pointed to the right corner. "Is my guitar still there?"

"Yeah. It's there. Do you want me to get it?"

Spike shook his head. "No. I will."

He walked around the bed and picked the guitar up by its neck, making the strings twang. Backing up, he sat on his bed and thumbed the strings, grimacing at how out of tune it was.

"Need any help tuning it?" asked Oz.

Spike could feel him sit on the bed. "No. I can do it." He stroked his hands over the dusty wood. "I've wanted to get my hands on her for years."

Oz leaned closer. "Wow, a Taylor. How could you leave it behind?"

"It wasn't easy." Spike closed his eyes as he began to tune the guitar. "Do you play?"

"Yeah. Got a band. We're not much good and break up about every five minutes, but have a lot of fun too. You'll have to come to listen to us. You said you liked punk so you probably won't mind how bad we are."

Spike laughed. "Uh…not sure about going to a gig…all those people—"

"You won't get lost in the crowd at a Dingoes gig, I promise you. If you want to come you can always listen from back stage if you like?"

"I'll think about it, okay?"

"Sure, no pressure, man."

Spike smiled at Oz gratefully. "Thanks."

"Do you want to take your guitar downstairs? Not sure your Mom will appreciate me letting you come upstairs."

"Or drink – don't forget the liquor," Spike said with a grin.

"I figure that I'm here to do what's best for the patient, but it's not great to antagonise the employer so…" He stood up.

"Yeah. Not a good idea to upset my mother." Spike got up and transferred the guitar to his left hand as he gripped Oz's elbow with his right. "Better get me back to my room before I turn into a pumpkin or a bloody mouse or something."

They both laughed, and soon Spike was settled back in his usual chair in his current bedroom. He pulled the guitar onto his knee and cocked his head as he listened to the tone. Oz had seen that expression before. That look of intense concentration where the only thing that mattered was the guitar and you.

"I'll leave you to it. See you in a couple of days, okay?"

Spike nodded absently. "Yeah, no worries." He hadn't even noticed Oz's use of the word see. He heard the hinge of the door squeak as Oz began to pull it shut.

"Oz?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

By the time the door had closed, Spike's attention was once again on his guitar. For the first time since the accident he felt whole as he began to play.

TBC



Chapter End Notes:
Buffy will appear in the next chapter. :D



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