Chapter Text
Chapter Nine
He wakes in the dark and for a second, before his groggy brain catches up, he's back under the rubble, helpless and alone. His gaze darts around the room, and he lets out a breath that sounds like a sob when reality kicks back in.
Hospital room. ICU.
There's enough muted light for him to see the room and he lets his gaze wander until his heart stops racing.
He's not prone to panic, has spent much of his adult life running into situations other people would run away from but waking up is tough. He doesn't know if it's the drugs or the pain but there's a moment when he first opens his eyes when he has no idea where he is. He keeps thinking it'll get easier but it isn't and part of him keeps thinking it never will.
The door opens, letting in a wash of brighter light from the hallway.
"Matt?" Beth, his nurse asks. "Saw your numbers jump on our monitor."
He likes her, finds her no nonsense attitude refreshing and seeing all five foot of her ordering Severide - who had dwarfed her - home earlier had been the one bright spot in this nightmare.
He's not sure how to admit what happened. "Bad dream," he says after a pause and shifts a little, biting his lip on a groan. It's been five days since the accident and he's still battered and bruised. He feels shaky, rattled, emotions out of control in a way he really doesn't like.
"It happens," she says and steps into the room. "You've been through a huge trauma, a surgery, we've got you on a million different meds. I'm not surprised your brain is playing tricks on you."
He grits his teeth, suddenly frustrated. "We're trained to deal with incidents like this."
"Huh, I must have missed that day," she says, eyebrow lifting sharply "I didn't realise the Academy had a class on what to do when a house falls on you."
He glares and she shakes her head.
"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm not making fun of you, I promise. You're not the first smoke eater I've looked after, and you probably won't be the last." She crosses the room, making a show of checking his IV lines, and presses her hand on his shoulder. "Your brain has been through a horrible thing and you need time to let it heal."
"I get that, I really do," he says, glad the room is dimly lit because that somehow makes it easier to talk. It feels like he's admitting secrets and everything about that makes him uncomfortable. "But it's been almost a week and I can't get it out of my head."
"A week is nothing, Matt," Beth says, but gently. "You need to give yourself time. We do have people who you can speak to, if you want."
He huffs a breath and tries to shift again. It's a mistake, lights up every damaged bit of his pelvis and sends a bolt of agony straight up his spine.
"Hey Matt," Beth says and he can hear her adjusting the equipment but his eyes are screwed shut. "Focus on my voice, okay? I've just upped your morphine dose a bit. It should give you some relief."
"Thanks," he says, the drugs hitting him already. "I wake up and I'm back in the collapse." He blurts the words out. "I've had close calls, but nothing like that. I didn't think I was going to make it out."
"You did," she says. "It just takes time for your brain to catch up. I can get someone in here for you to talk to, if you like?" she offers again. She's seen more than one firefighter through a stay in ICU and she knows how damn stubborn they can be.
"Maybe," he says softly. "Let me think about it."
It's not like he has any shortage of people to speak to, but sometimes it's easier to admit your fears to someone who doesn't know you, whose face you have to see everyday or every night. Lay your truth out at a stranger's door and it might not follow you home again. Do the same with someone who you love and it'll always be there, like a ghost, unseen and unsaid, but remembered.
"How are you feeling? How's your pain?" Beth asks. She adjusts the angle of the bed slightly, raising his legs a fraction and the uncomfortable pressure on his hip eases.
"Better." There's pain there still--he can feel it in the background, waiting, but the morphine has tamped it down and he feels the tension leave his body as his aching muscles finally relax. "Thank you," he mummers, feeling sleep stealing over him again.
Her hand brushes his shoulder as she straightens the blankets. "Sleep. Your guys got you out. It's my team's turn to get you back to them."
She pats his shoulder again, gently and leaves, the door clicking closed behind her.
He closes his eyes and follows her advice.