Title: Migraine
Genre: Friendship/Hurt/Comfort
Rating: T
Characters: James Street, Dominique Luca, brief Christina Alonso
Summary: Street probably should've told them he had hit his head pretty hard during the fight, but he didn't, so he supposed the resulting migraine was his punishment. Luckily, he has his best friend to help him through it.
Pairings: None
Warnings: Swearing, vomiting, mentions of public shootings
Word Count: 4,143 words; nine pages on Word
Author's Note: Ahhhh! I love Street and Luca friendship! I love writing and reading stories of them interacting with each other. It's my favorite!
So I normally get migraines, and, I admit, this was not the best description of one. I kinda just really wanted this out, so I think I rushed it a bit too much However, to make up for it, I am willing to do a second chapter on this, should people want it. Up to you guys. Until then, please enjoy!
xxxxxxx
Luca let out a loud sigh of relief as he and Street entered their shared home, dropping their backpacks on either side of the door. "Duke!" he called out. Street resisted a flinch. Damn, his head was throbbing.
The large golden retriever came bounding from the direction of Luca's room, a chew toy in his mouth. The toy squeaked loudly as Duke chomped down and jumped onto the couch, tail wagging in excitement. He stood on the cushions, eagerly expecting Street or Luca to cuddle next to him. Sometimes, it'd even end up both. Today definitely qualified for both.
"Holy shit," Luca yawned, throwing himself onto the couch. He buried his hand into Duke's soft fur. "What a day."
Normally, Street would've responded with a witty comeback, or at least entertained the conversation, but he didn't feel well enough to do that. Luca was right; the day had been a complete disaster. A white supremacist rally had been held at a college campus. One thing led to another and, soon, the team was hunting down a terrorist responsible for gunning down five college students. Two of them were dead and the other three were still in critical condition at the hospital.
Tension had been running high. The team was hard-pressed to find the man responsible. They had tracked him through most of Los Angeles until they had finally cornered him in a warehouse sitting in an abandoned business district. The day had ended with Chris Hemmings in prison, but not before Street had his head slammed up against a metal pole. Hemmings had put up a fight. The team hadn't been far behind, but they had gotten separated. Street had kept Hemmings busy for at least two minutes before the team caught up. It had been Tan and Luca who rushed in and tossed Hemmings off of their teammate. Six-foot-seven and three-hundred-twenty pounds, Hemmings was one hell of an opponent.
Street had played off the fact that Hemmings had slammed his head into a metal pole. He played off the fact that he couldn't see straight for a few moments, that he had a pounding headache and probable concussion. They didn't know, and he intended to keep it that way. It wasn't that big of a deal.
Street let out a deep breath and leaned himself into the opposite side of the couch, wanting to relax, only to tense up when Duke's heavy body practically jumped onto his lap. He let out a soft grunt as the canine reminded him of the many bruises that littered his body.
"Hey, hey, hey. Duke, here," Luca called sternly, reaching over and tugging his dog's collar lightly. Duke complied and turned back around, choosing to plop himself in between Luca and Street, facing Luca and gnawing on a bone the older male had offered him from the coffee table.
Once his companion was distracted, Luca looked up, petting Duke's head as he apologized. "Sorry about that. I forgot about the whole, you know, beat up by a guy thirty times your size thing."
Street scowled at the smirk on Luca's face. The apology was sincere, but the joke was to ease the mood. "He was not thirty times my size."
"Forty?"
"I hate you."
He could hear Luca snicker but chose to ignore it as he tilted his head back against the couch, resting his neck on the cushions and relaxing his tense muscles. It felt nice to unwind, and it eased some pressure off of his aching head.
"How are you feeling anyway?" Luca asked suddenly, after a moment of silence, besides Duke's teeth grating against the bone.
Street turned towards him and gave a confused look. "What do you mean?"
Luca rolled his eyes. "How do you feel? Do you need a heating pad? Ibuprofen?"
"Oh," Street murmured. He tilted his head back to look forward, closing his eyes. "No. No, I'm good. Tired as hell, though."
Luca hummed. "You got that right. Go to bed then."
Street took a deep breath and opened his eyes once more. "Not now," he muttered, a soft confession. "Not...so soon."
Luca pursed his lips and nodded curtly. "I know."
"I see those teenagers every time I close my eyes," Street sighed. "Two dead and the other three might not even make it."
"I know," Luca replied quietly.
"And knowing that the asshole who did it is in prison doesn't help. It doesn't bring them back," Street ranted. He felt the tension building up in his chest, felt the anger brewing all over again. He wanted nothing more than to go up against Hemmings again, to land a few more punches. It made no sense to him. Why did things have to escalate this way? What happened to using words? Why did people have to shoot each other now over differences in opinion? Why did everybody have a superiority complex?
"Hey," Luca whispered, voice soft. Street glanced at his friend, saw the sadness in his eyes. "I know."
Right. Luca did know. He did know what it felt like. He had to witness the dead bodies of kids younger than the college students they witnessed today. He knew what it was like. It didn't make things better, though. If there was one thing Street learned from Luca, it was that those kinds of things never truly went away.
"Right, sorry," Street murmured.
"Don't worry about it. I get it. It sucks, man. It really does. We just have to remember that Hemmings is locked away now. He can't hurt anybody else." Luca occupied himself by playing tug-of-war with Duke and the bone.
Street let out a deep breath and rubbed at his throbbing temples. "I don't want to think about it anymore."
"Wanna watch the next episode of Black Mirror?" Luca suggested, shrugging his shoulders.
It was a good enough idea. It would keep his mind off of the day, so Street agreed.
Reclined back in his seat, Street's hand wove its way into the soft fur along Duke's spine, absentmindedly stroking the dog as he tried to recall what the hell was going in this show. The three of them sat in silence as the show in front of them played. It was nights like this that Street was grateful Luca had forgiven him for being kicked off the team. He didn't realize how much he had missed sharing a home with his friend. After the whole fiasco with his mom and couch-surfing, Street was glad that he finally had a family to rely on.
He should have known the world wouldn't let him be that peaceful.
It had started off as a throbbing pain at the sides of his temples. It was to be expected - he had hit the pole pretty hard - but as the minutes passed, and Black Mirror continued to screw with his mind, Street found himself slowly becoming detached from the show, distracted by the pain and the pressure building up in his head. The pain went from a throb to a sharp stabbing, like an icepick chipping away at his skull. The pressure was pushing from the inside out, as if it were a person pushing open cellar doors. The pain felt so real that Street found himself massaging his scalp underneath his hair as a method of trying to soothe away the pain.
It didn't work.
He caught Luca tossing odd glances from the corner of his eye, but he tried to pay no attention. So long as Luca didn't say anything, he'd be fine, but the loud sounds and bright images coming from the TV grated his ears and burned his eyes. It wasn't long before he realized that this headache wasn't going to go away on its own. He just had to remember where the hell the Advil was.
Street let out a soft grunt of discomfort as he tried to rub away a particularly sharp jab of pain from behind his eyes. This prompted Luca to look over, a concerned look on his face.
"Headache kicking your ass, huh?"
Street didn't even bother asking how he knew. He was aware he had been obvious about it. "It's a bitch. Do we have Advil here? Or Tylenol? Or a gun?"
Luca's eyebrows shot up. "Uh, well, we do have our guns, but that's a lot of paperwork to do and you're not shooting yourself. The Advil is in the mirror cabinet in the bathroom."
"Buzzkill," Street grumbled. He began to push himself off the couch. He tried to ignore the fact that his legs shook slightly as he did so. What he couldn't ignore, though, was how much worse the pain had gotten once he was standing. As if sensing something was very wrong, Duke's head shot up from the bone he was still chewing on and whipped towards Street, eyes wide.
Luca tensed up, ready to spring into action if he needed to, but he wasn't able to prevent the rainbow splash of color that ingrained itself into Street's vision. It took the shape of a circle, slowly filling in and rippling around the sides. For a moment, Street felt light on his feet, an out-of-body experience, but it all came crashing down immediately after. Before he could brace himself, the color disappeared and searing agony laced through Street's skull, constricting his brain and tightening his muscles. Too focused on the pain, Street didn't realize he was falling until he found himself being caught and lifted back onto the couch by Luca.
"Shit! Street, you okay?" Luca's voice was panicked, worried, and all too loud for Street's ears.
His response was a pained keening noise from the back of his throat. Definitely not the answer Luca wanted.
"Damn," he whispered. Luca gently shooed Duke off the couch, to which the dog responded by trotting off back in the direction of Luca's bedroom. Paying no mind, the blonde carefully positioned Street to be laid out across the cushions, head off the arm rest and onto a pillow as to avoid neck pain. Only then did Luca murmur, "Hey, what's going on? What happened?"
Street's eyes were tightly shut and his hands had found their way as a shield from the light. All Street could muster was a low moan. "Luca, the TV."
"Shit. Shit, right, sorry." Luca quickly reached for the remote on the coffee table, fingers searching for the power button. As soon as it was pressed, the room was doused in darkness. Luca knew he wouldn't be able to see much for a while, but his eyesight would soon adjust and it was better for Street this way, if the soft sigh of relief was any indication.
Luca placed the back of his hand against Street's forehead, frowning when he felt the heat radiating off of him. "Hell, dude. What did you do to yourself?"
"Hemmings," Street grunted out, drawing his legs closer to himself. He tried to curl up into a fetal position. He wanted nothing more than to be comfortable, but the pain in his head refused to provide any sort of solace.
"What about him?" Luca asked, concern weaving its way into his voice. What had the team missed?
"Head hit metal pole."
"What?!" Luca exclaimed, momentarily forgetting to keep his voice down. Street made sure to remind him by groaning in agony immediately after. Luca knelt by the couch so that he was equal level to Street. Toning down the volume of his voice to a whisper, Luca continued, "Sorry, sorry, but what the hell were you thinking by not telling me or anyone else? You could have a concussion."
"'m fine."
Luca rolled his eyes. "Right. Because you're the perfect definition of 'fine' right now." With a small exhale, Luca rose from his spot on the floor and crept towards the kitchen. From there, he gathered a small washcloth, folding it and running it under cool water. He squeezed out excess water and moved back towards Street. He gently moved Street's head to a more open pose from being tucked in and placed the cool washcloth on his neck. Street sighed softly again, and Luca took that a sign that he was doing the right thing.
Moving away from his roommate again, Luca grabbed the bottle of Advil from the bathroom mirror cabinet and left back to the kitchen. He retrieved a glass of water and brought both items back to the living room. He knew the last thing Street wanted to do was move, but there was no way the younger man was going to be able to drink the pills lying down without choking.
"Hey, kid. I need you to sit up." Street groaned in response. Luca winced. He had never seen his teammate in such a debilitated state before. He really didn't like it and could do without seeing it again. He could only imagine the pain Street was experiencing, and he would bet his life his assumption didn't even come close.
Street, though, could say firsthand that the pills Luca may be holding were not going to solve the sheer agony in his head. No, he needed a gun for that and Luca was very unwilling in giving it to him.
He had never quite believed that headaches could get bad enough to the point where he couldn't move. Sure, he had heard of migraines, but he had never experienced one of this caliber, and he prayed he never would again. He couldn't move any part of his body - especially his neck - without sending flares of pain throughout his skull, causing his vision to burst with color, even though his eyes were closed. Sound and light caused a reaction equivalent to sensory overload, as if there was way too much input and his brain was going to malfunction because of it.
Realizing that Street was not going to move anytime soon - at least not willingly - Luca maneuvered himself behind his roommate and supported Street's back against his side, abandoning the wet cloth by tossing it onto the coffee table. Without saying a word, Street took the pills from Luca and popped them into his mouth. Luca helped him drink the water upon noticing his hands were shaking too much to hold it alone.
Once the pills were swallowed, Luca moved away slowly, gently guiding Street back down into a flat position. He breathed in a quiet deep breath as he tried to figure out what to do next. How do you take care of someone with a migraine? He was way out of his element here. Luca wasn't exactly known for his elegance.
Luca eyed his friend on the couch. Street had to be uncomfortable. After all, their couch wasn't the softest.
"Hey, kid," he whispered. "Do you want to move to your room?"
Street thought about it. He really didn't want to move at all - if ever - but the couch failed to provide him the relief he needed. His bed wasn't soft, but definitely a lot more comfortable than where he was now. Just thinking of the pillows and blankets felt great. But he knew moving meant agony, and he really didn't want any more of that.
"We'll take it slow if you need to."
Fuck, he hated this. He felt like a damn child. His head was killing him - a bomb setting off in his skull - but how could it bring him down to this? Unable to walk, talk, open his eyes? And what the hell was that burst of color? And how did it lead to this unbearable pain? Sure, the headache had sucked beforehand, but it had escalated to a point of absolute suffering and hell if Street knew what to do about it. He couldn't think about much anymore, not when every thought that ran through his head was accompanied by a sharp stab of pain.
"Okay," he gasped out, unable to gather much else a sound. "Room."
Luca didn't hesitate, allowing no time for Street to change his decision. He carefully helped Street into a sitting position, one hand on his roommate's bicep and the other on his back. Moving the hand on Street's bicep to forearm, Luca bore almost the complete weight of Street as he braced the other to stand. Together, the two worked for Street to remain upright. However, once up, Luca noticed just how unsteady Street was. The younger male's legs shook and his hands didn't fare well, either.
Luca wrapped one of his arms around Street's waist and used the other one to take one of Street's hands across his shoulders, so Luca was now supporting him. Slowly, both S.W.A.T. officers started to move around the couch and in the direction of Street's room. The younger male moaned softly at the pain in his head as he took each step. The only thing Luca could do in response was squeeze Street's hand companionably and pray that the pills kicked in soon, though he doubted it.
"Sorry, man," Luca murmured, shifting them around the pinball machine. "We're almost there, though."
He only got back a groan in response.
Luca frowned. Damn. This migraine must be kicking his ass. He sighed inwardly. Let's just hope he doesn't remember this tomorrow.
The two had just rounded the corner towards the bedrooms when Street suddenly grabbed Luca's sweatshirt in a death grip.
"Street?" Luca called softly.
"Bathroom," Street moaned. "Now."
He didn't have to tell him twice. Luca practically carried Street as gently but quickly as he could towards their bathroom. He didn't even think about flipping on the light switch as he deposited Street on the floor in front of the toilet. Immediately after, the sound of Street retching filled the room. Luca winced in sympathy and perched himself on the side of the bathtub, his cool hand resting on Street's burning neck. Eventually, the retching gave into vomiting, and Luca couldn't do much but remain by Street's side and flinch at the sound of Street being sick.
It didn't take long – maybe a couple of minutes – but it had felt like hours. Street's stomach finally settled and all that could be heard were the quiet wheezes as Street struggled for air and breathed through the pain. Luca's hand had moved from Street's neck to his back, rubbing in small circles as he tried to get the other man to calm down. Street reached up and flushed the toilet. The sound was ear-piercing as it broke the silence, and Luca could feel Street tense up underneath his hand.
"You okay?" he asked sotto voce.
"Fuck," Street whined quietly. "It hurts."
Luca's mouth went dry and panic began to well up in him. When should he call it quits? When was enough? Should he take Street to the E.R.? He had never seen Street reduced to a whimpering mess of agony. When was it no longer a migraine but something much more serious?
"Hey, are you okay staying here for a sec?" Luca asked, halting his soothing movements.
"Hurts to move," Street whispered in response.
Luca's heart shattered. "I'll be right back. Promise." With that, he left the bathroom and moved back to the living room where he was far enough for Street to not hear the following conversation. He grabbed his phone and called Chris. He was aware that it was late at night, but he didn't know who else to ask about this.
"H'llo?" She sounded exhausted, and she probably was, given that Luca had more than likely woken her up from her sleep.
"Hey, Chris. Sorry for waking you."
"Luca?" She sounded much more awake now. "What's going on? What's wrong?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine. I just have a…really serious question."
"It couldn't wait 'til the morning?"
"No."
She paused, sensing the urgency in his voice. "Shoot."
"Do you get migraines?"
He could practically hear her frown from over the phone. "Only when I'm about to get my monthly. Why?"
"How do you take care of them?"
Chris paused again. "Okay, so obviously it's not you because you wouldn't be able to call me right about now so…" Luca could hear her take a deep breath. "How bad is he?"
Luca sighed, running a hand through his hair worriedly. "Bad, Chris. Can't move. Stupidly sensitive to sound and light. I gave him pills, but I don't think they're going to work. He just finished throwing up in the bathroom."
"Shit…" Chris murmured. After another sigh, Chris continued, "Look, there really isn't much else you can do for him. Once a migraine starts, it's there and it's not going away without some heavy prescription meds, which you don't have. The best thing you can do is get him settled somewhere comfortable, preferably his bed. Make sure the room is completely dark and shielded from light, so if he has windows in his room, close them. Migraines can last a while, so make sure the curtains are closed in case he still has it in the morning. Get a glass of water, make sure he stays hydrated. Um…what else? Uh, make sure he gets sleep. A lot of it. It's gonna be hard since the pain'll be distracting him, but once he's asleep, he'll feel so much better."
Luca groaned inwardly. So, basically, there was nothing he could do to help Street and just had to settle for watching him suffer. Great.
He sighed. "Thanks, Chris. Again, sorry for waking you."
"It's fine," she answered, followed by a large yawn. "But, Luca, I know this is a big ask, but stay with him. He might get sick again during the night. Or the migraine might get worse, and, yes, it can get worse. Trust me, he will vocalize it if it does. If it does worsen, get him to the E.R. immediately. There might be something else that's wrong, okay?"
Luca nodded, even though she couldn't see it. "Yeah, of course. I won't leave him."
"Alright. Night, Luca. Good luck."
"Thanks, Chris. Good night."
With that, he hung up, sent a silent prayer to whoever was listening, and darted back to the bathroom where Street was supposed to be. Sure enough, Street still lingered where Luca had left him, curled up in pain on the bathroom floor.
"Street?" Luca called faintly. "Come on, man. We gotta get you to your bed."
"No…" was the pained reply.
Luca's heart clenched in sympathy. He carefully made his way towards Street before crouching down and gently pulling him into a sitting position. Street's head lolled against his shoulder, causing Luca to swallow thickly. Shit. This was so not right.
"I'm lifting you in three…two…one." Luca, very tenderly, lifted Street to stand, resuming the same carrying stance he had before. They gradually began to make their short journey towards Street's room.
Luckily, Street didn't have any windows to close, and the kid was a bit of a neat freak, so Luca didn't have any obstacles to worry about as he led Street to the bed and gently situated Street into a comfortable position on his stomach. Once he was sure Street was okay, Luca rushed off to grab a cold glass of water and a cool compress. By the time he had returned, Street had resumed shaking.
Luca placed the glass of water down on the Street's bedside table and rested the cool compress on the back of Street's neck. He was immediately greeted by a soft breath of relief, causing him to smile slightly. At this point, Street was taking up most of the bed, so Luca cautiously scooched him over just a little bit to have enough room to climb on the bed and rest against Street's headboard.
"What are you doing?" Street mumbled into his pillow.
"Staying the night with you."
There was a brief moment of silence. "You don't have to."
Luca gave a quiet huff of amusement. Oh, trust me, kid, I have to. But at the same time… "I want to, kid. At least for my sake of mind."
Street went quiet again. For a while, Luca had thought Street had fallen asleep until he heard a quiet, "'m sorry."
Sorry for what? Getting beaten up by Hemmings? Getting your head slammed into a pole? Not telling anybody that you got hurt? For getting a migraine? For needing me to help you? For having me spend the night in your room to make sure you're okay? Luca was only mad about one of those thoughts – and he'd make sure Street would hear his mouth later because not telling anyone he was injured was stupid – but, for right now, there was nothing Luca wanted to hear Street apologize for. Because there was nothing to apologize for.
"Don't be. You're good."
And that was that. It hurt too much for Street to talk, but also because the younger male understood all of Luca's feelings in that one short response.
"Try to sleep, kid. I'll be here if you need me."
"Thank you."
"Any time."