A/N: Hello, y'all and welcome to my new Sylvily story. Warning, this is not as light-hearted as my other Chicago Fire fics (at least for now, I promise it will turn around). It was just a storyline that came to me and I couldn't ignore. Please let me know what you think. There will be a new chapter up tomorrow. Thanks in advance for reading.

The dull, hollow thud of brick hitting bone echoed through Emily Foster's mind. The beep of monitors, the shuffle of feet and faint conversations couldn't compare to the memory of that sound. How long had it been? Seven hours? Eight? To Emily, it felt like days.

The neck cramp, the ache in her back from sitting, half asleep in the too-firm hospital chair next to her partner was an afterthought.

It should have been me.

The call was routine; as routine as any around Fifty-One, that is. They had dealt with fires, victims, and collapsing buildings enough that to the team, it was a normal day. One last victim was left in the building as it began to fall to pieces. Severide had pulled him out just in time, as he usually did, and Foster started for the entrance to take over.

'Foster, no! It's too dangerous,' Brett scolded, holding Emily by the arm and pushing her backward.

'Brett, just let me grab him!' Foster replied, wrenching her arm from her partner and heading back toward the victim.

'Emily, as PIC I'm telling you to stand down. I got him,' Brett said seriously, pushing Foster back again before rushing to Kelly and the victim.

Everything happened so fast. People always said that. In her line of work, Foster knew how true it was. She didn't even have time to see the cinder block falling from the sky as the building began to crumble. The sharp crack of flesh followed by Brett collapsing to the ground came too quickly for warning.

"Sylvie!"

Foster heard the sound of her own scream in her periphery, unaware that she had spoken at all, as she bolted toward her partner.

Next, she remembered the blood-

"How are you?"

Manning's too-sweet voice ripped Foster from her daze, causing her to sit up swiftly from where her head was resting on the bed next to Brett's still body.

"Huh?" Foster grumbled, squinting as she was brought back to reality.

"You know we're doing all that we can, right?" Manning asked, not comforting her in the least. "Now we just have to wait for her to wake up."

"Yeah," Foster said dully, looking to her partner, finally noticing the steady beep of the monitor connected to her.

Without context, it would have looked like Brett was peacefully sleeping. The gash on her head was cleaned and sewn up and she looked genuinely well. Except she was unconscious and no one had any way of knowing when, or if, she would wake up.

Foster heard herself shudder at that thought.

"Why don't you take a break, Foster. Go home, get some rest. You know I'll call you as soon as something changes," Manning suggested, approaching slightly before receiving the hateful glare that was sent her way.

"I'm good," Foster spat, returning her gaze to her partner.

Brett's deep, steady breathing was the closest thing that Foster had to comfort.

It should have been me.

"Chief Boden is back. Can I send him in?" Manning asked, not knowing Foster well enough to know how far to push.

"Yeah," Foster nodded weakly.

"Okay. I'll be back in a minute."

Foster sighed deeply, folding herself in half once again to lay her head on the bed, though the rest of her body was still curled in the chair. She closed her eyes and willed herself not to drift to sleep, squeezing Brett's hand one last time before her exhaustion overtook her.

"Any change?" Boden asked Doctor Manning, watching his two paramedics through the glass.

"No. Vitals are normal, she's stable. She just needs to wake up," Manning explained.

"She will. She's a fighter," he said, convincing himself more than the doctor.

"I am a little worried about Foster," Manning divulged, also glancing through the door. "It's been over eight hours and she hasn't moved from that chair. I told her to take a break, get something to eat, anything, but she just snapped at me."

"Doctor Manning, Emily won't leave that chair until Sylvie wakes up. Not for me, not for anyone. I can guarantee it."

XXX

"How're my two favourite girls?" Kidd asked as she entered the hospital room, intentionally sounding more light-hearted than she felt.

Foster rubbed her eyes and wondered if she had managed to fall asleep with them open. She was sitting upright in the chair but without conscious thought. She nodded to Kidd wordlessly, looking back to Brett.

How much time had passed? Foster only wondered for a minute. Was it the same day?

"You know she'll get through this, right?" Kidd asked softly, touching Foster's shoulder briefly. She realised that light-hearted wasn't going to cut it right now.

"It should have been me," Foster said, nearly inaudibly. She had been repeating it in her head endlessly but she hadn't said it aloud until now.

"Foster, you can't really think—"

"It should have been me!" Foster said again, much more loudly than she intended. "I was the one going to the victim but she stopped me!"

"She was just looking out, Foster," Kidd told her quietly.

"She pulled rank on me, Stella! She knew it was the only way I would listen to her. And look where it got us. I should be the one lying there," Foster whispered, allowing her tears to fall for the first time.

Kidd pulled Foster into an embrace without saying a word. She knew that her friend had been in that chair for more than a day and her exhaustion and sadness had finally caught up to her. Foster sobbed into Kidd's shoulder, thinking about how Brett would make fun of her if she saw her in this sorry state. She allowed herself to cry for only a moment before pulling herself together, for Sylvie's sake. Crying wouldn't do either of them any good.

"I already know what you're gonna say, so I don't know why I'm wastin' my breath, but do you want to go get some food, a shower?" Kidd asked, rubbing her shoulder soothingly.

"Stella, I'm not going anywhere," Foster said directly, wrapping her fingers around Brett's limp hand.

"You know it's been twenty-four hours, right?" Kidd said sharply, hoping to get through to Foster.

Foster did not know that it had been twenty-four hours. All that meant to her was that Brett had been unconscious for one entire day. The doctors kept saying hopeful words, words that Emily did not feel like hearing. They could assure her that Brett's vitals were great as much as they wanted; it didn't make the girl wake up.

"Kelly said he'd be by later," Kidd told her, succumbing to the fact that Foster would not be leaving the chair. "You might not be movin' but you should at least get some sleep. Brett won't want to wake up to you all delirious," she chanced a grin that caught Foster.

She nodded slowly, pulling her chair up to the bed and resting her head heavily.

"I'll see you in a little while," Stella said, brushing Brett's shoulder before leaving the room. "Take care of each other."

XXX

The foggy aura and stark white backdrop almost made Emily feel peaceful. Almost. Foster watched as Brett approached her, smiling and full of life.

'Hey,' Brett said happily, squeezing her hand and holding it there.

'Hey'? That's all you got for me?' Foster chuckled, feeling the warmth emanating from her friend, making everything seem real.

She was fully aware that she was dreaming. Right now, she didn't care. At least she got to see Brett's shining eyes again.

'Don't worry, Em,' Brett said, bumping her shoulder as they stood close to one another, 'I'll be home by Saturday.'

XXX

Foster awoke with a start, lifting her head from the bed to find Dr. Manning checking Brett's vitals while Dr. Charles looked over them, reflectively. Great, Foster thought. Maybe she really was losing her mind.

"How are you?" Dr. Charles asked sincerely, even though he had that 'shrink' look in his eye.

"Fine. What day is it?" Foster asked instantly, remembering her dream and not helping her case for sanity.

"Friday. Seven A.M." Dr. Charles informed her with a concerned expression. "What day did you think it was?"

"I lost track," Foster admitted, smiling slightly as she brushed Brett's hair away from her face. "Sylvie says she'll be back by Saturday."

Definitely not helping herself seem of sound mind.

"What do you mean?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"I dreamt it. She said she'd be home by tomorrow," Foster told them, seeming more relieved than she had in the previous days.

"That's, um, that's good," Daniel nodded, clearly having no idea how to respond to the sleep-deprived woman. "She seemed well, in your dream?" he asked, the incredulous look he shot at Manning not as subtle as he had hoped.

"Perfect," Foster told them. "Happy, even."

"That's a really good sign, Emily," he told her, though she could see the doubt in his eyes.

Foster didn't care that he was just placating her. It didn't matter if he thought she was going crazy. It didn't matter if she WAS going crazy. Sylvie would be home by tomorrow.

XXX