There's so much light. I can't quite see anything because the world is just a blur of color. Someone is shining a beam in my eyes. A needle pricks my arm. An oxygen mask is slipped over my face.

I can hear voices, sirens. There's so much going on at once and I'm fading in and out.

"Don't try to talk, sweetie," one of the paramedics tells me. "We don't want to cause more damage to anything."

That sentence alone is utterly terrifying, even in my messed-up state.

"We're going to give you something to sedate you," I hear someone say. "It will only pinch a little."

I try to move, desperately searching for Joel in the chaos. From what I can see, I'm still in the ambulance, but none of the people in my line of sight are him.

"I need you to stay still," the EMT holding my arm orders, then looks at someone out of my field of vision. "You're the husband? I need you to calm her down."

The next thing I know, Joel is there, his eyes on me. "Vi, sweetheart, just breathe. You're okay, I promise."

I relax as another needle pierces my skin. Calmness washes over me and knocks me out cold.

***

The machine beside my bed wheezes with each rise and fall of my breath. In, out. Out, in. There's a cuff around my bicep, presumably to measure BP. With my eyes closed as I try to emerge from the lull of sleep, I take mental stock of what hurts, what's numb, and notice the weight of someone holding my hand.

My eyes open and I see Joel is asleep on the bed, his breath tickling my fingers as he exhales deeply. The drugs, whatever painkillers they've given me, are still clouding my head and vision, but I'm blinking through the haze in an attempt to focus.

My neck is still aching. I imagine it should probably hurt more, but that's what the drugs are for. I'm only mildly uncomfortable, and for that I'm grateful.

I look over at the electronic clock hanging on the wall next to the TV. It's nearly one in the morning. No wonder he's asleep.

I shift in my bed, staring up at the ceiling. My hand has fallen asleep under the weight of his, but I feel like I owe it to him to at least not wake him up. What I did today was inexcusable and naive. On top of that, I scared the hell out of him.

I remember everything up to him saying I was his wife, but the rest is a blur. He was so determined to be there that he lied. I'm having trouble wrapping my head around that.

My nurse comes in to check on me just minutes after I wake, and Joel stirs at the sound of her footsteps. He's still pretty sleepy for the next few minutes, and he says nothing for a while.

"That's one great husband you got there," she says to me. "Stayed with you every step of the way."

I don't have any visions as she touches me. My guess is she's probably been here quite a few times in the hours I've been out. It's nice not seeing her death, and I'm sure the relief is written all over my face.

After she's done, she leaves and closes the curtains on her way out to give us privacy.

I send Joel a quizzical look once she's out of earshot.

"I don't remember the proposal," I say, attempting to tease him with a raw voice. "Was it romantic?"

He nods, forcing a smile. "Oh yeah. Do you expect any less from me?"

I take a breath and shift over on my side. "How are you?"

Joel rolls his eyes. "There you go again, Vi, worrying about me before worrying about you. Isn't that what I'm supposed to ask you?"

"I asked first," I reply. "Sue me for caring about you."

He closes his eyes, grimacing. "You scared me today, Vi."

"I know," I tell him. "I get it."

"I don't think you do," he says slowly. "It's sort of funny, y'know? I know you well enough to care when you do something like this, even when I've only known you for a week. Do you know how stupid that was? Did you even get your answer?"

I look down, shame settling in. "He said he did it because it was fun."

"I could have told you that," he replies, anguished. "It wasn't worth risking your life."

"I know," I murmur.

His shoulders shake like he's holding back tears.

I didn't register just how much I could mean to someone until this moment as I watch Joel try not to break down.

"Joel," I whisper. "Joel, I'm here."

He kisses my knuckles over and over again. "I know that, Vi. It would decimate me if you weren't."

He closes his eyes as he tries to regain his composure. I know he's trying not to get upset in front of me, but I'm certain he's already cried over me today. It makes me feel awful. I never wanted to hurt him.

He looks beyond exhausted.

"You should get some rest," I say.

"I could tell you the same."

"You don't have to stay. You can go home."

"I'm staying," he insists. "I'm your husband, remember?"

He can still joke. That's a good sign. Hell, that's a great sign. He's not angry to the point of not wanting anything to do with me. I wonder how that's possible. I don't deserve his forgiveness but he gives it so readily.

"If you weren't with me, I'd probably be alone," I tell him hesitantly. "I don't really have anyone to call. It really means a lot. I know I haven't exactly been the best to you, but I—"

"When you talk like that, you sound like you're making a deathbed apology," he interrupts.

"It's true."

"You're worth the chase," he says.

"Why?" I question.

"You just are, sweetheart," he answers. "It doesn't have to be more complicated than that."

His lips brush my forehead, just above my brow. The lingering of his mouth is so sweet, so solemn. It only makes me want him more.

"Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up again."

It's a promise. I know he's committed to staying as long as he can, no matter what. It makes it easier for me to drift off again as I succumb to all the medication in my system.

I could sleep for days like this. Even with the pain from being strangled, I'm better off with my brain running slow and drowsy than I would be at full functionality. Like this, I can't be bothered with my usual thoughts or regrets. Finally, I can relax.

A few hours pass before either of us get up. When I open my eyes the next morning, Joel's coming out of the bathroom with a few droplets of water running down his cheeks, obviously having washed his face.

"Did I wake you up?" he asks.

"No," I say sleepily, stretching my arms over my head. "Think they'll let me out of here anytime soon?"

He shrugs. "I honestly don't know. Hopefully, you'll be up before you know it."

"Where are you headed off to?" I ask him.

"I'm going to go down to the station. I've got paperwork to fill out," he says grimly.

I frown. "For what? Didn't you finish the Grant file?"

"I..." He takes a sharp breath. "I have to file a report about the incident yesterday. Thankfully, the other officer vouched for me, so he provided proof that Grant was endangering the life of a civilian. At least we don't have to worry about him hurting anyone else."

I nod, taking in the obvious guilt in his eyes. Even though it was life or death for me, it's obvious he's not a violent person. It's obvious that killing someone was an unimaginable concept for him until yesterday.

"I'll be back to pick you up when they discharge you," he assures me, trying to ease away from the dark subject. "By the way, Betsy wants to see you. I talked to her yesterday."

"How'd you get her number?" I question.

"She called you four times before I picked up. I finally answered because I didn't want her to assume the worst," he says. "She told me to let you know that if you get hurt again, she won't let you work for the NYPD anymore."

I laugh. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You're pretty stubborn, I'd doubt she'd convince you to quit," he points out.

"Well, you haven't seen Betsy in action."

"Oh, I have. She was ready to throttle me for not being there sooner."

I imagine she probably hollered at him for a good twenty minutes, knowing her. In reality, I have Joel to think. I'd be dead if it wasn't for him.

"You better get going," I tell him, looking at the clock. It's a little past seven, so he has plenty of time to get down to the station. "After I take a shower, I'm gonna start signing off on the papers so I can leave."

"You're cute when you're determined, but it's not a crime to take a few days of bed rest," says Joel.

"I've got a psych class to go to, and then drinks on Friday, remember? No time for a day off," I reply.

He pauses in the doorway, calling over his shoulder. "I thought you said you don't drink."

"I don't, but you do," I holler after him, fighting a giggle.

His response is to turn around and make sure I can see as he waves goodbye and disappears down the hall.

I drag myself out of bed after the nurses unhook me from machines and step into the bathroom, assessing my reflection in the mirror. To put it bluntly, I look like I just dragged my sorry self out of hell.

My eyes look hollow, rimmed in purple, and an ugly bandage is covering the cut on my face. My hair is an unholy mess, the bruises from Kevin's hands on my neck are fresh and dark, and the tender spot on the back of my head hurts like nobody's business.

Thankfully, it's cold enough for me to wear a scarf for a few days, and they're giving me something to help with the injuries. That should take the edge off for a while, and hopefully, I can get back to my life without making a scene. I don't want to stop or slow down, even when I've had something like this happen to me.

"Yesterday was a bad day," I say aloud. "But it's gonna be okay. You have Joel and your job. Everything is fine."

Is it though?

I know I'm probably blocking out the trauma. It's not right, and it's definitely not healthy, but I don't want it to hit me. I've seen a lot, and if I fixate on one event, it could tear down every wall I've built to protect myself. I try not to linger on the horrific things I've seen and experienced. If I do that, I won't ever let go.

The question is— can Joel compartmentalize like I do? Or does he find himself fazed and shaken?

I can picture him now as he types, his heart a violent thump in his chest because the memory of what he had to do will never leave him, even after the report is filed. I can't help but hope that I never know that feeling, yet I also wish I could take it from him.

The only comfort we both have is that a man like that, a sick killer, is gone for good. Even so, my stomach twists.

Am I anything like Kevin Grant?

I dismiss the question the second it plagues my mind, but that doesn't erase it. Not completely. In a world full of killers, maybe we're all just circumstances away from joining the rest of them.

They want to keep me for a few more hours before I'm free to go home. I'm not happy about it, but I do get to be dressed in my own clothes, which provides some comfort. The hospital doesn't exactly have a whole lot of good channels, but I make do with what I have.

My victory for the afternoon is being able to choke down some slimy jello, just because it means I'll have something in my stomach. Eating is hard, and my throat is still too swollen for solid foods. I don't like it, but I can manage fine. I'm lucky to be alive. Kevin Grant easily could have killed me, and it's a miracle Joel got there when he did.

I've never been so close to dying before. I've seen other people pass away but being the one experiencing it is completely different in more ways than one. If that wasn't the end for me, I'm left wondering what mine does look like.

"Knock, knock," Stan says from the doorway, rapping his knuckles against the wood. "Are you up for company?"

"Only when it's you," I reply.

He enters carrying a few flowers, bound with a pink ribbon from the hospital gift shop. He offers them to me, and I inhale their wonderful scent happily.

"I didn't know which ones you like, so I hoped for the best," he tells me apologetically.

"They're perfect," I assure him. "Thank you."

He pulls up a chair next to my bed and lowers himself into it. He examines me somberly.

"How are you feeling? I heard you took quite the beating yesterday."

"I did," I admit. "I'm feeling better with the medication and stuff. It ended up being nothing too serious. They're probably going to clear me to leave later this afternoon."

"Really? That's great news!" he says optimistically. "We already miss you at the NYPD."

"I doubt Chief will have me back too soon, but I miss you too."

"Chief can't survive without his secret weapon," he replies. "You'll be in before you know it."

The corners of my mouth lift. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

He opens his mouth to add something, but his phone chimes and interrupts him. With a sigh, he says, "I guess I'm needed back at the station. I'm sorry I couldn't have stayed longer, Violet."

"It's okay, I understand."

He beams at me affectionately. "You take care now, you hear me?"

I lift my chin. "I hear you."

There's one thing that sticks with me after he's left. One thing that leaves me a little confused.

He called me Chief's secret weapon.

It's a strange thing to say, considering he doesn't know anything about my powers.

At least, I don't think so.

I decide not to be paranoid. I smell my flowers once more, glad that Stan stopped by. Without fail, he always seems to make me feel better.