There was a time when John Nolan and Bailey Nune—better known to fans as “Bailan”—felt like a stabilizing force on The Rookie. They were the grown-up couple, the emotional anchor amid rookie chaos, shootouts, and shifting alliances. But somewhere along the way, that promise collapsed under the weight of repetition, contrivance, and tonal confusion. Now, after the most recent stretch of episodes, a growing portion of the fandom is saying the quiet part out loud: Bailan isn’t struggling anymore. It’s dead weight.
What makes the situation so frustrating isn’t that the relationship has flaws. All long-running TV couples do. The problem is that The Rookie keeps insisting on revisiting the same conflict without allowing either character to truly grow from it. Nolan bends. Bailey pulls away. Nolan reassures. Bailey doubles down. Reset. Repeat. Instead of evolution, viewers are stuck in a loop—one that’s draining narrative momentum rather than adding to it.
Bailey, in particular, has become the lightning rod for criticism. Introduced as hyper-capable to the point of near parody, she was initially fun: a firefighter, a soldier, a paramedic, endlessly confident and competent. But over time, that invincibility calcified into emotional rigidity. In recent episodes, her decisions feel less like character-driven choices and more like plot devices designed to manufacture tension. Moves are made without meaningful conversation, consequences are brushed aside, and Nolan is left reacting rather than participating.
And that’s where the heart of the problem lies. John Nolan—the literal namesake of the show—has been sidelined within his own relationship. Once written as a man learning, adapting, and occasionally failing forward, Nolan now exists primarily to absorb emotional whiplash. His needs are acknowledged only to be overridden. His concerns are validated verbally, then ignored in practice. That imbalance doesn’t read as mature realism; it reads as exhaustion.
What’s worse is that the show knows how to write compelling relationship dynamics. The contrast is glaring. Chenford, for all its ups and downs, progresses. Even when it stumbles, there’s a sense of movement—forward or backward, but never static. With Bailan, there is no progression, only escalation without resolution. Stakes are raised, but nothing actually changes.
The latest episodes make this impossible to ignore. Instead of deepening emotional intimacy, the writers leaned into distance and misalignment—again. Rather than exploring what commitment looks like for two adults with demanding careers, the story defaulted to separation-adjacent drama. Fans didn’t react with heartbreak or suspense. They reacted with fatigue. That reaction says everything.
Social media discourse has shifted noticeably. Where there were once debates about whether Bailan was “endgame,” there is now a near-consensus that the relationship has run its course. Not because fans hate Nolan or Bailey individually, but because together they no longer bring out the best in the show—or each other. When viewers start rooting for a breakup not out of spite, but out of mercy, something has gone very wrong.
From a structural standpoint, keeping Bailan alive may actually be holding The Rookie back. The series is at a point where it needs clarity. Is Nolan still growing? Is he settling? Is he leading? These questions can’t be answered meaningfully while his primary personal storyline keeps circling the same unresolved drain. Ending the relationship wouldn’t be a failure—it would be a narrative reset.
And that reset could be powerful. A clean, adult breakup—one rooted in incompatibility rather than betrayal—would allow both characters to reclaim agency. Nolan could refocus on mentorship, leadership, and the quieter wisdom that once defined him. Bailey could exist as a strong individual again, not a constant source of friction. The show could finally move forward instead of treading emotional water.
The irony is that The Rookie often excels when it lets go. Aaron Thorsen’s return proved that the series benefits from correction, not stubbornness. When something isn’t working, acknowledging it can be a strength. Bailan, at this point, feels like a relic of an earlier version of the show—one that no longer fits where the story is headed.
So can The Rookie finally put this ship out of its misery? It should. Not with shock value, not with last-minute twists, but with honesty. Let it end because it no longer serves the characters or the narrative. Let it end so the show can breathe again.
Because if there’s one thing this season has made clear, it’s this: clinging to Bailan isn’t romantic. It’s just prolonging the inevitable. And The Rookie—a show built on growth—deserves better than standing still.
