Chapter Text
The ICU smelled different in daylight—cleaner somehow, brighter, like the night had been scrubbed away even though nothing had changed. She hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw John under the rubble. John on the gurney. John gray and slipping away. She followed the same path she had the day before to his room, glass encased, she saw him before she entered the room and she felt her stomach drop. She saw the dialysis machine.
John himself lay exactly where she’d left him. Still, pale and wrapped in wires and tubes and machines that hummed and beeped softly, doing the work his body was struggling to manage on its own. The ventilator rose and fell with steady precision, mechanical and unforgiving. His face looked slack with sedation, bruises darkened in the harsh light of morning, lashes casting faint shadows against skin that still didn’t quite look right.
Bailey moved to his side automatically. “Hey,” she whispered, brushing her fingers over the back of his hand. It was warmer now than it had been in the ambulance, but it still didn’t feel like enough. “I’m here.” She took a slow breath and reminded herself not to assume the worst.
He didn’t stir. She didn’t expect him to, but she wanted to talk to him. Needed to talk to him. She stood there for a moment, just breathing with the machine, syncing herself to its rhythm the way she’d learned to do on calls—stay calm, stay present, don’t panic.
A doctor appeared quietly at the foot of the bed. “Mrs. Nolan--” the female doctor stepped into the room.
“Bailey, please, his kidneys are failing?” she asked. “How is he doing overall?” she asked. Straight to the point. She didn’t have the energy to ease it.
“I apologize, I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Dr. Santos. John made it through the night,” she said. “That’s not nothing. However, as you can see, we’ve put him on dialysis a few hours ago, when his labs started to change.”
Her breath caught. “Failing or injury?”
The doctor stepped closer, lowering his voice even though they were alone. “He’s showing early signs of acute kidney injury.”
She nodded, letting out a slow deep breath, “How bad are we thinking here?”
“Well, as you know with crush injuries,” he explained, “when muscle tissue is compressed for a prolonged period, toxins are released into the bloodstream once that pressure is removed. Those toxins can overwhelm the kidneys. We noticed the urine first, so we’re playing it safe. We’re intervening aggressively—fluids, medications, close monitoring and we’re going to begin hemodialysis twice a day as a precaution.”
“You’re going to start now in effort to help take the strain from his kidneys.”
“Exactly.” The doctor nodded.
She gripped the edge of the bed to steady herself, eyes never leaving John’s face. He looked peaceful like this. Too peaceful. Like none of this was happening inside him.
“Is he dying?” she asked quietly. She shouldn’t have asked it, she shouldn’t even think about it.
Dr. Santos seemed to understand though and didn’t judge her for it. “He’s very sick,” she said honestly. “Obviously you know kidney failure can cascade quickly—affect the heart, blood pressure, electrolytes. We’re doing everything we can to slow it, possibly reverse it, but the next twenty‑four hours are critical.”
“What-what about his lungs?”
“Multiple rib fractures, sternal fracture, and pulmonary contusion,” she explained. “Serious, and we’re keeping an eye on his oxygen levels and for now the ventilator is doing the bulk of the work.”
“How soon until we can take him off them?”
“We’ll see how he does with the kidneys, but if we start to see improvement probably start lowering the sedation tomorrow.”
Bailey nodded, “I’m-I’m used to having something to do,” she whispered as she sank down in the chair beside his bed. “What do I do?”
Dr. Santos smiled, “Talk to him, tell him about your day, about anything and everything. He’s not in a coma, just heavily sedated, so there is a chance he’ll hear it.” She looked back at him, “I promise we’re doing everything I can to keep him with us.”
With that Dr. Santos headed out, leaving Bailey alone. Bailey leaned forward, resting her forehead briefly against the edge of the mattress, careful not to disturb anything. Her shoulders shook as she exhaled, the weight of it pressing down hard.
First the collapse.
Then the bleeding.
Now his kidneys.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered to him, tears slipping free despite her. “I can’t fix this. I would if I could.” She wiped her cheeks. “I…I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared as I was when I got a call from Bradford saying you were in the.” She shook her head. “Then seeing you there. I’ve been doing some reflecting, turns out several of our friends and my friends agree with you.” She shook her head, swallowing past the lump and sorrow in her throat. “John, I think I need some help. I…every time I think I’m over what Jason put me through, I find something else he destroyed. And now I’m starting to think, maybe I’m not running because I’m afraid to slow down, maybe I’m running because if I stop, I’ll realize just how broken I am and that scares me to death. And I’m terrified you’re going to realize I’m too broken and walk away.” She sniffled, “Or worse, I’ll bring you down to my level.”
She let out a shaky sigh, longing to be able to lay beside him on the bed, to see his beautiful blue eyes again. Lying her head down on the bed beside him, and staring at him as she gripped his hand, she allowed the fear and exhaustion to catch up with her, and let the machines and background hospital noise lull her to sleep.
o0o0o0o
John made it through that day, and the next, and the next, and before Bailey knew it, it had been four days of waiting, and talking quietly in the room, along with other members of Mid-Wilshire, the 53rd and even a couple people checking in from the 118.
Bailey had gone home to sleep, it had taken a great deal of reassurance from the doctors and nurses that they’d call if there were any changes, but she’d managed a sleeping pill and a solid eight hours of sleep, a shower had her returning to the hospital feeling nearly human now.
She walked into the hospital room expecting to see the usual tubes and machines sticking out of him, instead she was surprised to see the dialysis machine was gone, as was the ventilator. She turned, spotting one of the day nurses now the hall, “What happened?” she asked stepping towards the woman, Kylie, she remembered now, the woman’s name was Kylie.
The younger woman gave her a warm smile, “His numbers are looking normal again, and the doctor wanted to see how he did with breathing on his own. He’s been stable for over four hours.”
Bailey felt like she could breathe for the first time in days, before she turned and rushed back into the hospital room. A part of her had been hoping, with the machines gone now, she’d return to the room, and he’d be awake by some miracle. But even as she stepped back into what had become their little hell hole away from home, he remained stoically out of it.
She moved closer to his side, where she’d spent four days, an ever-watchful vigil. She studied him for a long moment, the bruises on his face, arms and that disappeared under his gown had started to fade, what had once been vivid shades of black, purples and blues, were now faded into greens, and yellows. Reaching out, she ran her fingers through his short hair. Then ran her fingers lightly over the stubble that had begun to grow. He’d always told her that while he could grow a beard, it wasn’t much of one, scragglier, and patchy than something to be proud of. She could see that now, while he certainly had hair growing over his chin and jawline, it was indeed a little patchy and thin. She smiled when she noticed grays in there as well. “I miss you,” she whispered. “I miss your voice, your laugh, your smile.” She shook her head, looking out the windows across the room. “I don’t know how I ever imagined DC was going to work. You’re right, of course, our lives are out here, and they’re perfect, or well…they were until this bomb went off.”
She’d been talking so much the last four days that she almost didn’t even notice the slight shift in the body in the bed. Except, he stiffened. It started there, a body, that while unconscious was limp and pliable, albeit heavy, had previously been calm, but one moment she was talking and the next the arm beneath her fingers had begun to tense.
Her eyes shot toward his face, searching for any sign of consciousness. She watched the micro-movements in his body and face as he fought the sedation. “John, I’m here,” she whispered, sliding his hand between both of hers and gripping it. “Come back to me.”
His heart rate ticked up on the monitor as he became more aware of his surroundings, likely beginning to feel the first trickle of pain. She could see movements as he tensed and relaxed, like he was testing out the idea of being awake. Finally, his eyelids began to flutter. She wanted to sob, to cry out with joy, but instead she gripped his hand as tight as she dared and kept talking. “It’s okay, you’re safe now. I’m here, you’re in the hospital,” she soothed.
When his eyes finally opened, and remained open, his light blue eyes were glassy initially, unfocused, drifting across the ceiling, as if he was trying to make sense of whatever he was hearing and seeing. She watched his BP and heart spike, his breathing beginning to pick up as well. “Hey, no. John, baby listen to my voice. You’re safe, you’re in the hospital. You aren’t at that mall,” she reminded him, standing and leaning over so he could see her. She could practically see the memories flooding back into his mind as his eyes shifted over towards her.
Finally, finally she was looking at the love of her life in the eye, and all she saw was weight, pain, fear, and utter exhaustion. She reached out gently and cupped his face, thumb rubbing circles in his cheek, hoping desperately to soothe him. She forced a shaky smile onto her trembling lips, aware she must look a mess after four days of staggered crying, barely any sleep and the quick shower. “Hey handsome,” she whispered.
His mouth moved, though she didn’t hear anything, his vocal chords unused and a little abused from the ventilator. “Do you want a little water, or ice chips?”
He nodded, closing his eyes and leaning his head back as she turned back to a table and brought over a pitcher of water. She’d filled it every day since she’d arrived, just in case today was the day he woke. She poured a small amount in a cup, before bringing it to his lips and helping him take a sip.
“’m married,” he managed after the sip.
She could’ve shattered right there on the floor; she felt her chest crack open and had to choke back a sob. He must’ve spotted it, because he frowned. She squeezed her eyes shut, setting the cup back down and let out a slow deep breath. That was their flirting. He’d always made it so fun jokingly turning her down, saying he was a married man, especially after they’d first married. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed that until now.
“Okay?” he squeaked, his voice still scratchy and raw.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, “I’m great now,” she whispered as she ran her hand through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. “You scared the hell out of me,” she whispered, before bowing her head and pressing her face to his greasy hair. She didn’t care, it smelled like him, old dirt, sweat, and god she never wanted to leave. “I love you, god John, I love you so much.” she whimpered. She knew she should get a nurse, the doctor, but she couldn’t break their small circle right now.
To her surprise she felt a gentle arm wrap around her waist, and a moment later he was hugging her. She couldn’t do it anymore, she cursed herself for being so weak, not a word she’d ever used to describe herself, she pressed her face to his neck and sobbed for a moment. She knew he’d need her soon, he’d need her stoicism, her strength and assurances. But right now, more than anything, she just needed to be held by her husband.
She kept her breakdown short, pulling back a moment later, she saw his eyes shift to his leg, they’d had him up at a thirty degree angle to take pressure off his ribs, it meant he could see the thick brace on his knee, thigh and could likely feel the odd sensation of pain control along with the thick binder holding his pelvis in place.
She saw the flash of fear, real and raw as he moved his hands towards his legs, she quickly gripped his hand and pressed the call button. “John, listen to me. You literally just work up. You’ve been unconscious for four days and that’s okay. Your body needs rest. That deep ache you’re feeling, it’s the pain killers.”
“Am—am I paralyzed?” He sounded horrified, terrified, his voice shook and she could see unshed tears in his eyes.
The door pushed open and a nurse stepped in and beamed at the sight of John awake. “Officer Nolan, it’s so good to see you awake.”
“He’s afraid he’s paralyzed,” Bailey quickly stepped in, not wanting to overwhelm him.
The nurse stepped forward, “You’re not, we tested all your reflexes when you came in, and again after the surgery. I won’t lie, you have a long recovery ahead of you, but you’re not paralyzed.” She assured.
Bailey could already see John’s energy flagging, as he looked back at his leg, then back to Bailey. There was longing in his eyes, she wasn’t sure about what, to not be left alone. To be safe and at home. “John, you’re safe, and I’m not going anywhere, okay. Just take a few slow breaths, you’re going to be okay. Go back to sleep,” she murmured, brushing her hand repeatedly through his hair as his eyes began to dip and soon his body went lax again.
Bailey looked at the nurse, Kyle smiled and made a couple quick notes on her iPad. “That’s a really good sign. I’m going to have the doctor come by and check in a bit, we’ll wake him up for some food and go over his injuries if he’s up for it.”
“Thanks, Kylie.” She replied, looking back at her now sleeping husband. Bailey sighed, she was terrified of facing everything they’d been through, of talking about their last conversation. But she wouldn’t run away from this. No more running. She’d call a therapist and schedule something, she’d make sure she could be there for him too.
o0o0o0o
With John asleep again, Bailey realized that for awhile at least, she was going to be his primary care giver, it would probably be best for the time being to sleep when John slept. So, she moved the recliner in the room closer to the bed so that she could hold his hand, she grabbed a blanket and curled up in the chair, gripping his hand through the railing and closed her eyes.
Bailey is back at the mall. She knows it’s wrong the moment she’s there, the air feels too thick, the light too flat. But her feet keep moving anyway, boots crunching over glass that never runs out no matter how far she walks.
“John?” she calls, looking around. Her voice echoes strangely, stretched thin like it’s being pulled apart. The alarms are louder now. Deafening. They don’t fade into the background the way they did that day—they crawl under her skin, rattle her teeth, make her chest hurt. Smoke presses low, heavy, tasting like metal and fear.
She turns a corner—
—and the floor is gone.
The mall drops away beneath her feet, and for one weightless second she thinks she’s falling. Then she’s standing again. In the dressing rooms of all places. They’re intact this time. Clean. Untouched , the mirrors unbroken, benches upright, fluorescent lights humming softly like nothing has ever happened here. But it’s too quiet, unsettling in a way she hasn’t ever experienced before. There were plenty of times she could recall being afraid. When John had found out about Jason, when Jason had tried to kidnap her, when John had been kidnapped by a serial killer and arsonist, when Rosalind had captured her and then captured John, keeping them apart for half the day, millions of moments long before this horror show of a mall. And yet this felt terrifying in a way that felt wholly encompassing. It was too quiet, too clean.
“John,” she whispers.
She sees him then. He’s standing at the far end of the room, back to her, uniform neat and whole, like he never went into the rubble at all. Relief crashes through her so hard it nearly drops her to her knees.
“Oh thank God,” she breathes. “John, I’m here.” But he doesn’t turn.
Against her better judgement, she takes a step closer. Another. This time her boots don’t make any sound. “John?” Her voice shakes now. Fear ratcheting up as she grows closer to him, within arms length. “Please look at me.”
He turns slowly. His face is wrong. Not bloody. Not broken. Just… gray. Drained. His eyes are open but unfocused, like he’s looking through her instead of at her.
“Why didn’t you listen?” he asks calmly.
The words hit like a physical blow.
“I—I am listening,” she says desperately. “I swear, I am. I stayed. I’m staying. We’re not moving. I chose you.”
He tilts his head, studying her. “That’s not what you said,” he replies. He shakes his head. “Why can’t I be enough? Why I am never enough?” his words grew desperate and heartbroken.
The ground beneath them trembles. Hairline cracks spiderweb across the tile floor, spreading faster with every heartbeat.
“No,” Bailey gasps. “No, no, stop—” She reaches for him but suddenly her hands pass straight through his chest. He’s gone. The ceiling screams. Concrete splits open overhead, chunks of it tearing loose in slow motion. Bailey spins, throwing her arms up, instinct screaming collapse even as her feet refuse to move.
She looks down. Her turnout gear is gone. She’s wearing her gown from the night before. Bare hands. No helmet. No radio. Her brows furrowed, she can’t help anyone like this. She can’t save anyone like this.
“John!” she screams as the floor gives way.
She falls—into the ambulance. Now John is on the gurney, strapped down, pale and still, monitors screaming around him. Blood spreads beneath him no matter how many times she presses her hands down, soaking through her clothes, through her skin, like it’s endless.
“Stay with me,” she begs, climbing onto the gurney with him. “Please, please don’t go.”
He opens his eyes. They’re clear now. Blue. Gentle. “I told you I wasn’t moving,” he says softly. There was no heat like there had been that night, no anger or frustration. Just resignation. A moment later, the heart monitor flatlines.
“No!” Bailey sobs. “No, no, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” She fumbles for the defibrillator paddles, hands shaking too hard to grip them. She’d done this a thousand times, but now she couldn’t remember how to use them, couldn’t remember where to put the pads, there was so much blood, there hadn’t been this much blood earlier, had there?
The ambulance doors slam shut by themselves. She’s alone with him. The lights flicker. John’s hand slips from hers.
Bailey wakes up with a sharp, broken gasp. Her heart is racing, chest tight, lungs burning like she’s been holding her breath for hours. For one terrifying second, she doesn’t know where she is—only that she’s lost him. Then the room clears around her.
Hospital chair. Dim ICU light. The steady rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. She looks at the bed. John is there, right where he’d been earlier, only this time his eyes are studying her, filled with worry, fear and sadness. But he’s present, his chest rises and falls like it should. He may be a little physically broken, but he was still whole and still here.
“You okay?” he asked cautiously, his voice still sounding rough.
“I’m here,” she whispers, voice breaking. “I’m here. I didn’t leave.” She grips his hand, bringing it up to shaking lips, tears spilling over as she pressed her lips to the back of his hand. Grounding herself in the warmth of his skin.
“So am I,” he offered softly, his voice patient and kind and it felt like he was breathing air into her lungs, giving her some of the strength he should be conserving.
She felt the first crack form. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, shaking her head as she got off the bed and grew closer. “I’m so, so sorry.”
His brows furrowed, “Why?”
“You were right, I have been running, and while I think I can say why…I honestly don’t know for certain.” She looked into his gorgeous eyes, thankful that she’d get to see them for the rest of her life. “I think…I’m afraid that if I slow down, if I…get lazy you’ll start saying and thinking the things Jason did.” There was a deeper crack, down to her marrow and she brought her free hand to her mouth as she tried to hold back a choked sob.
“Hey,” he squeezed her other hand. “Bailey, I can’t show you how untrue that is, if you never give me the chance to see you slow down or be lazy,” he offered. “I am going to love you no matter what. I always have.”
She nodded, unable to stop the tears. “John…I think I want to go to therapy, maybe we could both go?”
He smiled at her, “Yeah, I think that’s probably a good idea.”
“You left me, it was just me alone for four days with my thoughts, not gonna lie, they weren’t pretty.” she leaned forward, pressing her face into his shoulder, despite the awkward position. He brought his closer hand up and gently ran it through her hair.
“I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”
A knock on the door had Bailey standing up as the doctor stepped into the room. “Is now a good time?” she asked.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” Bailey replied wiping at her face.
Bailey sat beside his bed, one hand wrapped carefully around his, the other resting against the railing like she needed something solid to hold onto. She hadn’t let go since he woke.
The doctor pulled a stool closer and sat down so she was eye‑level with them.
“John,” she said calmly, “It’s nice to officially meet you. I must say you’ve got quite the support system, I’ve met dozens of people who think very highly of you.”
John smiled, blushing slightly, “I think pretty highly of them too. Except maybe Smitty. Jury’s still out on him.”
Bailey couldn’t help the laugh that came out as she and John both chuckled. The doctor smiled before she continued, “I’d like to discuss your injuries if you’re feeling up to it and go over a treatment plan at a high level.”
“Yeah, sure,” John replied.
She smiled. “Excellent. Now, I know this is a lot to take in, so I’m going to walk you through what happened and what comes next. Stop me anytime if you need a break or either of you have any questions.”
John nodded faintly. Bailey felt it in his hand—tension, bracing.
“You sustained a prolonged crush injury,” the doctor continued. “You were pinned under structural debris for a significant amount of time. That kind of pressure affects more than just bones.”
Bailey’s thumb rubbed circles over John’s knuckles.
“Your pelvis took the brunt of it,” Dr. Santos said. “You have what we call an open‑book pelvic fracture. We were able to stabilize it surgically, but it’s a serious injury, and you’re probably aware of the binding currently around your waist. You had significant internal bleeding as well in that area, which was why the surgery went so long, we had trouble stabilizing you a few times. We lost you twice on the table, once for a minute and another time just over a minute.”
Bailey felt frozen, she hadn’t heard that part earlier when the doctor had briefed them, had the surgeon mentioned it, there’d been so much information.
John swallowed hard. “Walking?” he asked hoarsely.
The doctor didn’t dodge it. “Eventually, yes. But not soon. You also have a severe fracture to your left knee,” the doctor went on. “Ligaments were damaged, and there was concern for blood flow early on. We stabilized what we could, but that knee is going to take time—and physical therapy—to recover.”
John’s gaze flicked down toward the brace he could barely feel.
“My leg felt… gone,” he said quietly.
“That was likely a combination of swelling, nerve shock, and pain medication,” the doctor explained. “The good news is that you are not paralyzed. You do have nerve irritation, and it may take weeks—or months—for sensation to fully normalize.”
Bailey tightened her grip. “What about his kidneys?”
“They’ve shown significant improvement.” The doctor replied before looking back to John. “Unfortunately, during crush injuries, because of blood flow restriction, when the blood flow is returned it can carry toxins to the kidneys. Half of crush injury patients develop kidney issues, it’s very common. You did start having discolored urine, and showed an uptick in some of your numbers, we started you on a high intake of fluids and put you on dialysis in hopes to get ahead of it and stave off the worst of it. We did that twice a day for three days, and it worked beautifully. While your kidneys are still injured, and unfortunately you will likely experience some discolored urine and discomfort for a while, your output and numbers are back within a fairly normal range and improving every time we run them. That’s the most promising thing we’re seeing currently.
Bailey looked at John, who looked like he was struggling not to be overwhelmed by it all. “So,” she said quietly, “what does recovery actually look like?”
The doctor took a breath. “Best‑case scenario,” she said, “you’re looking at several weeks in the hospital, followed by inpatient rehabilitation. You won’t be bearing weight for a while. Physical therapy will be slow and frustrating. Progress won’t be linear.”
John let out a weak huff of a laugh that didn’t quite land. “That sounds… fun.”
Bailey squeezed his hand. “Don’t joke.”
The doctor continued. “Realistically, full recovery will take months. Possibly longer. Returning to full duty—if that’s something you choose—would be a long‑term goal, not a short‑term expectation.”
John stared at the ceiling for a moment, absorbing that.
“And work?” he asked finally. “I could potentially return to work?”
Dr. Alvarez met his eyes. “Your job requires physical readiness and endurance. We’ll reassess as you heal, but I want you focused on one thing right now: surviving this and getting stronger.” The word surviving landed hard. She paused a moment longer, “While I believe in realistic expectations and goals, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having a long-term goal when it’s achievable. In your case, I feel cautiously optimistic. With a lot of rest, physical therapy, and hard work on your part, I do think you could be back to work within six months to a year. That said, you’re not in your twenties and thirties anymore. Your body will tire out quicker; you will find you don’t heal as fast as you used to. It is paramount that you listen to your body and what the doctors, nurses and physical therapists tell you. If something feels too far out of reach, do not push it, especially not in these early weeks.”
John nodded, “Understood, thank you, doctor.”
She smiled and stood, “I mean this genuinely, it’s been my pleasure so far. You’re a hell of a fighter, John. If anyone can get through this to the other side and return to a normal and active life, I think it’s probably you.” She paused and looked at both Bailey and John. “It’s dinner time. You don’t have any major food restrictions, my only suggestion would be to start with smaller portions first and see how you tolerate it, since you haven’t eaten in a few days. I’ll send a nurse in with our menu.”
The doctor stepped out and John looked over at Bailey. She couldn’t help but notice how scared her husband looked. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Bailey leaned in, pressing her forehead gently to his. “Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize for staying alive.”
John exhaled slowly. “I broke myself pretty good, huh?”
Bailey laughed weakly through tears. “You broke a building first, for what it’s worth.”
He smiled—small, tired—but real. “Not sure I technically broke the building.”
“What do you want for food, I’ll order in case you fall asleep.”
“Soup would be fine, or mac and cheese maybe. Something warm.” Bailey could see the exhaustion already starting to pull him under.
“Okay, get some rest, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Love you,” he murmured, already losing the battle against sleep.
She smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips, “Love you too.”