Summary: Sergeant Grey visits John in the hospital following his miraculous escape from Marcus. Set right after S4E7. One-shot.

It Doesn't Weigh A Lot (Until You Put It On)

Fire, sirens; an explosion, ringing ears; confusion, terror.

Marcus, that scar.

A fucking car; white. hot. pain.

Can't focus; pain, dizziness, darkness.

Marcus, maniacal laughter-

An abandoned factory; many. many guns.

Exhaustion; daylight; another car.

Marcus, death?

Sirens again?

Beep,

Beep,

Beep-

.

John Nolan is alone again, save for the vital monitors humming steadily beside him. When his eyes open, it's to the pristine hospital room that he's been assigned to. That he's been resting in for at least a day and a night. The artificial lighting feels almost too dim and too bright at the same time in comparison to the shades of gray and faded purple that reach between the blinds of the window. He doesn't know what time it is. He doesn't know what day it is-

Beep, beep, beepbeepbeepbeepbeep-

"Officer Nolan."

His eyes snap forward out of sheer habit. John chokes on a sigh, taut muscles flopping in bittersweet relief. "Sergeant Grey," he croaks. Beep…beep….beep. Thank God. Something in his chest twinges when he clears his throat. "Where is everybody?"

"Resting," Grey tells him. "Tamara and Officer Chen are staying with Bailey until you get out of the hospital, and the others should be getting ready for another day on the job."

Morning. It's morning. Something eases in him with that knowledge, and that of Bailey having someone to care for her. He hates that it's when she's stuck at home that he gets hit by a car and hunted like prey. Now, they're both out for the count. They really are lucky to have such great friends. Lopez, and Bradford, and Lucy, and Nyla, and all the others- John really doesn't know what he'd do without them right now.

The sergeant wanders a bit further into the room, a deep sigh crossing the distance between them. John feels the sentiment down to the core of his bones. It's been a very long week, and honestly- he doesn't know how he survived it.

"-ou're lucky."

John blinks back to reality. "What?"

Grey smiles a little, and John will never get used to seeing that man's patience directed at him; they've always been at odds. "How are you feeling, Nolan?"

"Like I got hit by a car." He winces through a half-shrug, looking away as he falls into a brief silence. But he can feel the sergeant's eyes on him, soft but insistent, waiting for a real answer- and, truth be told, John's still intimidated by him enough not to disobey. "I thought I was a goner. But, uh…I don't even remember half of it. It's all a blur."

Sergeant Grey nods, a world of understanding in his gaze, as he sits in the chair near the bed. "It's common for traumatic experiences to be fragmented in our memories," he says, his voice soothing. "Your mind is protecting you, shielding you from the full extent of the trauma. Just like when you killed that robber when you were a rookie. It will take time to process everything.

"You've been through a traumatic experience, John."

"I know," he mumbles, almost inaudible beneath the heart monitor. "I know."

"Do you?"

"If I could murder someone every day, I would be the happiest man on the planet. Oh, I don't know- maybe I'd lose my taste for it. You know, like when you eat too many chips."

"Anybody ever tell you you're crazy?"

"Sure," Marcus indulges, "But, then, I burn them to ash."

John gives himself a rough shake; the pain isn't any less than the last time he'd been awake, when he'd seen Lopez and Harper and Bailey, and it takes all his effort not to grind his teeth together. "Yeah…" His eyes drift up to the sergeant, and the words slip without him meaning them to: "He was out of his mind."

And Grey nods his agreement. "Marcus Lindsey was…a special case. I spoke to him when they brought him in. You're lucky."

"Yeah," he grumbles, "Real lucky."

"I'm serious."

"Y-yes, sir, I know. I just…"

"It's okay. You're allowed to feel, Officer Nolan."

John tries for a smile, but it feels weak and forced- like a grimace. Everything hurts. But as the room descends into a slightly more permanent silence, he chooses not to focus on that. Not on the broken memories of gunfire and headlights, not on the aches at the very core of his every appendage. Not on the way he feels underdressed, unprotected, in a medical gown and without his weapon. The heartbeat monitor drones into the background, white noise.

He's alive. Despite the odds, he survived. He shouldn't feel so tired. So lost. He should be happy- it's not every day that a man- or any person, for that matter- escapes a serial killer. And yet…

The burden upon him feels unshakable.

John closes his eyes, and breathes out through his nose.

Distant sirens, rushing closer by the second, echoing in his ears as gravel and weeds crunch beneath the approaching tires. The screeching of brakes that makes him flinch back to a further state of awareness, of fear-

Voices in the air, footsteps rushing around the car-

"Nolan! John, can you hear me?"

Marcus's body jerks upward- "...No!"- and he clumsily launches himself onto the man's torso. He can't escape. Not now, not when he's got not energy to chase after him, not when he can barely move-

The bloodied lump beneath him howls at the impact.

"Nolan!"

"John!" Something grabs him by the back of his ruined shirt and yanks him back. His spine makes painful contact with the car's grill, the muscles in his injured leg smashing into the rough terrain beneath him- he snarls. A hand plants itself on either shoulder as Nyla Harper kneels down in front of him. "No, hey- stay. You're safe. We've got him."

His voice cracks upon meeting her gaze. "I thought he was getting away."

"I know," she says, and pulls him in close.

John watches Bradford heave Marcus up and begin to lead him away, watches Lucy step forward to flank his opposite side, watches Sergeant Grey and Lopez start making calls in the background-

"You got him. It's okay."

.

Grey comes back once the sun's risen higher, but he's in uniform and back to business with this visit. John doesn't get a word of small-talk in before the Sergeant cuts to the chase. "So, after reviewing both your report and the footage we found in the factory and Lindsey's car-"

"Footage? The place was abandoned."

"Not completely, apparently." The man shrugs, the pretense of authority falling away to that uncomfortable silence they've long-since failed to find a casual connection in.

John's mind races, trying to process this new information. He had been so focused on surviving and apprehending Marcus that he hadn't considered the possibility of being monitored. Distant memories resurface- memories of Lucy in the barrel when Caleb Wright had kidnapped her- and an icy chill runs up his spine. Had Marcus hunted and recorded his other victims, too? Or had he just outright killed them before he set fire to the crime scenes?

"Sergeant-" He starts slowly, lifting his head again. "Did- did the footage in Marcus's car show the other victims? Did the places where he killed them have cameras? Did he-"

"Nolan. Stop.

"You've done your part in the case against Marcus Lindsey. We have units searching the other sites now, but any cameras they find will have been damaged in the fires. There's no way we can know what he did to them," Grey tells him, both professionally apologetic and firm at the same time. "But whatever he did do to them, he won't be doing it to anyone else ever again. You did good."

John doesn't recognize the feeling in his gut, but it's one that adds to the heaviness sitting at the bottom of his stomach. He offers up a smile that mirrors the confusion underlying his voice. "I know."

"That's not good enough." The sergeant shakes his head, taking a step closer to the foot of the bed. "You need to hear it from someone. What you went through, not many officers could have survived. So, let me say it again: You did good, John. You did good."

A validation that John hadn't even realized he needed. Emotion wells up in his throat, and the "thank you, sir" that he forces out is choked with gratitude.

Sergeant Grey watches him for a moment, his gaze softening even further- and who knew that was possible? There's an understanding that passes between them, one of the handful they've ever experienced, a silent acknowledgement of the weight that John has been carrying on his shoulders. The room falls quieter, the sounds out in the hallway fading into white noise, and suddenly there's nothing but them.

In that fleeting moment, John can see the weariness etched into the lines of Grey's face, the decades of service he'd given to the department- to the city and its people- revealing themselves in a way that says I see you, and I am here for you. Words that could never be spoken aloud between them. Words that will always be true notwithstanding.

Because the badge is a heavy thing, one that can't be put down once it's been put on.

"You should give Officer Chen a call- she's been through this. It was different for her, but abduction is abduction, and I know for a fact that Caleb Wright is still a sore subject for her. You two have had a rough start here, you could use each other." Grey pauses. "Not many officers get abducted by serial killers and survive.

"And, look, I know we didn't start out on the right foot when Captain Andersen recruited you, but...You're a good man, John. One of our best. I'm glad you pulled through."

For a moment, John has to wonder if he's dreaming. He's not; the pain in his bones is too real for him to be. He manages to draw up a smile- a tight one, but a genuine one nonetheless. "As am I."

Sergeant Grey returns the smile no less awkwardly than the one he'd been given. "Get some rest. Don't worry about coming back to work until you're fully healed."

"Yes, sir." And suddenly, the weight is less. Everything is normal again. "Thank you."

"Don't think I'm going soft on you, Officer Nolan." The sergeant warns, pointing half-heartedly at his chest. "I'll have Lopez bring by the rest of the paperwork- you know, so you have something productive to do in the meantime. Have it done by the time you're back."

John perks up at that; he's been quite bored in the time that he's been awake and alone. "You can count on it."

With those final words, Grey backs out of the room- but not without gesturing from his eyes to John's own, a reminder that the morning's heart-to-heart will not change their dynamic on the job. They are learning to get along, but they will never be friends.

John lays back and grins at the ceiling. He's okay with that.