Word Count: 3,230 words; seven pages on Word
Author's Note: Well, here's the second chapter. I know it was marked completed before, but some of you guys wanted another chapter, so here it is! Hope you guys enjoyed this one as well. I want to write more Street and Luca friendship, but I'm kinda running out of ideas, so if you guys could send me prompts, that'd be much appreciated. Until then, enjoy!
xxxxxxx
Street would be flat-out lying if he said he got much sleep that night. At some point in those few hours, Luca's hand had found its way onto his neck and scalp, casually massaging the migraine away, as if he wasn't crossing boundaries he and Street had set months before. Luca tried to play it off, choosing to close his eyes and "attempt to sleep" as he massaged Street's head, but Street knew what he was really trying to do. Street didn't stop him, though. He didn't have enough energy to do so, and, if he was being completely honest, it felt nice. It definitely didn't make the piercing, stabbing pain in his head go away, but it certainly made it feel a little better.
He felt so tired. Not only tired physically, but emotionally as well. It had been a long day, what with witnessing dead or severely injured college students and chasing down a criminal, who was probably on steroids. Now he also had to deal with a damn migraine that refused to leave. Luca offered him more Advil after a few hours had passed, but Street couldn't even bring his head up to swallow them, and Luca didn't want to force him to, not when it would cause him added pain. Luca decided the massage would be their compromise, even if he hadn't verbally expressed it. He just started rubbing Street's neck without warning, and Street failed to find the strength to stop him. Again, he kinda didn't want to.
Despite this, Street still maintained guilt for putting Luca in this situation at all. It wasn't fair to him. Luca had also had a rough day, and he felt just as tired as Street did, but because Street decided to play stupid and not tell anyone he got hurt, he ended up dragging Luca into a sleepless night with him. He supposed he could be thankful they had tomorrow and the next day off, but he could imagine that Luca would've wanted to do something more exciting than catching up on sleep.
"Luca," he murmured.
Luca's reply was soft, the same as it had been the past few hours. "Yeah?"
"Go to sleep."
"I'm trying, but you keep talking." Street had never heard a worse lie. He knew Luca hadn't gotten anywhere near sleeping, especially not with his fingers still pressing down soothingly on Street's neck.
"I mean it, Luca. 'm fine."
"No, you're not. Listen, don't worry about it. I'm good here. Now go to sleep. You'd feel better if you did."
Street desired nothing more than the open arms of rest, but the agony still persisted, and every time he got close to drifting off, another sharp spike of pain would wake him again.
"'m trying."
He heard Luca breathe a small sigh. He wondered if Luca had done so out of irritation or sympathy. Street guessed both, but he could be wrong.
"Migraine still as bad?"
"No. Little better now."
Now that've you started massaging it away, but I'm not saying anything.
Luca snorted quietly in amusement, seemingly picking up on the subliminal message anyway. "Do you need anything?"
Another cool wet cloth would be nice. The other one had been removed a long time ago after it had warmed. I would like you to keep massaging my head, even if I tell you to stop, which sounds really counterproductive and annoying now that I think about it, but, according to you and the rest of the team, I blame it on my supposed trust issues.
"No. 'm fine."
"I can get you another wet cloth."
Yes.
"No."
Luca hesitated. "Yeah, I'm gonna get you one anyway."
Street opened his mouth to protest, especially when Luca's fingers slipped away from his hair, but Luca had already crossed the room, snagging the abandoned cloth from the nightstand and heading to the bathroom. Street immediately found himself missing the pressure Luca had been applying to his head; his migraine felt twice as worse without it. Street let out a soft groan. When was this going to end?
"Hey, you okay?" Luca asked gently, placing the newly wet and cool washcloth on the base of Street's neck.
"Just please get me a gun already." That was the only thing Street was willing to beg for as his skull throbbed with pain.
Luca flinched. "No can do, bud," he replied, sliding back into his original spot on the bed. "You're gonna have to settle with suffering next to me for a little while longer."
Street groaned in protest, only to be cut off when Luca's hand made its way back underneath his hair.
Luca snickered. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Go to sleep."
With the cool wet cloth, combined with Luca's massage, Street very nearly fell asleep in the next half hour. However, because fate loved to screw with him, as he finally felt the warm embrace of slumber, the sound of loudly screeching tires echoed from outside and pierced through the silence of the night.
Street's eyes snapped open, eyes watering in agony as sharp spikes of pain stabbed at every inch of his skull. His head continued to pound harshly, a throbbing sensation overwhelming and blocking any thought from his mind. But it still couldn't block out the sound of a loud car horn that persisted for several seconds, like a person holding down on the steering wheel in anger, despite the fact other people in the neighborhood were trying to sleep.
Street couldn't stop the sharp gasp of discomfort that escaped, hands flying up to cover his ears. He felt Luca's hand tense on the base of his neck, a soft "shit" falling from his mouth as he tried to decide whether to stay with Street or tell whoever was in the car to shut the hell up.
Street, on the other hand, chose to clench his eyes shut tight, but the damage had already been done. For a brief moment, he felt no pain. Instead, he felt just as he had right before his migraine had started. Despite his eyes being closed, bright colors danced in the blackness of his vision, taunting him and clouding everything he tried to see. His body succumbed to numbness and felt almost lighter, like he was floating in vast nothingness. He could hear and feel nothing, only seeing those bright and colorful lights.
But, just as he did before, he came crashing down in a blaze of stabbing, white-hot pain searing through his head, slamming at the edges of his skull, threatening to break it open. A loud keening noise sounded from the back of his throat as he curled up on his bed, involuntarily moving away from Luca's hand. Darkness teased at the edges of his vision, making sick promises to gather him into unconsciousness, free from all the pain. Street welcomed it. He could hear Luca trying to grab his attention, calling his name, but Street couldn't fight the miserable aching anymore. It took mere seconds to finally be enveloped by the darkness he so eagerly sought after.
Luca, however, was flipping the fuck out. The car horn eventually ceased, but Street had gone from incredibly tense to completely lax underneath his hand. He tried to call his name, get him to look at him, but Street didn't budge. It took approximately one minute for Luca to realize, He's passed out.
Shit.
In a flurry of motion, Luca leapt up from the bed and raced to his phone on the bedside table, the bright light burning his eyes in the dark room, but it didn't stop him from dialing 9-1-1. The operator picked up the call and barely managed to finish his greeting when Luca barked,
"This is Officer Dominique Luca, 22-David, LAPD SWAT. My roommate was suffering from a severe migraine and he just fell unconscious."
"Okay, officer. Can you tell me your address?"
Luca hardly paid attention to the rest of the conversation, choosing instead to busy himself by pressing two fingers to Street's neck, feeling for a pulse. He knew he would get one – and he did – but it didn't stop his heart from beating fast, especially not with the tear tracks staining Street's face. Luca would bet everything he had that Street hadn't realized he'd been crying.
Luca wanted nothing more than to beat the crap out of the person who thought it would be a brilliant idea to hold down a horn for that long at this time of night. He didn't even recall hanging up the phone, only that he had somehow maneuvered Street's head to be cradled in his lap. The washcloth had been discarded, but Luca still kept his hand running through Street's hair.
"You're gonna be okay, kid. You're gonna be okay. I promise."
xxxxxxx
"James Street?"
Luca's head snapped up from the prayer-like position he had been in as he waited for someone, anyone, to tell him his roommate would be okay. Sure enough, a doctor stood at the doorway to the waiting room, glancing over each person in there – there were only three other people besides Luca – and started to approach him upon noticing Luca's acknowledgement to Street's name.
"Doctor Rutherford," the man greeted, holding out a hand for Luca to shake.
Luca stood and took the proffered hand. Luca was confident he looked like a mess – tired, worried, even a bit annoyed – but Doctor Rutherford paid no mind and simply gestured for Luca to follow him, speaking as they walked.
"First things first, James will be okay."
A small sigh of relief fell from Luca's lips and the tension in his muscles fled.
"We had to give him a sumatriptan injection. Sumatriptan typically works better before the migraine headache begins, but it can still be somewhat effective during the attack," Doctor Rutherford explained, leading Luca down the stark white walls of the hospital.
"Will the migraine still be there when wakes up?"
Doctor Rutherford sighed. "Hard to say. It can be, but if it does, we can treat it with another injection if necessary. However, James is currently resting right now, and that can do wonders for a migraine."
Luca nodded slowly, attempting to soak in and process the information given to him.
The two men arrived at a room door. Doctor Rutherford turned to him. "We would like to keep him under observation for a little while after he wakes up. If all is well, he can be discharged."
Luca gave him a small smile. "Okay, good. Thanks, doc."
"Of course. Page the nurses if you need anything else."
"Will do."
With that, Doctor Rutherford turned and walked away. Luca took in a deep breath, pushing open the hospital room door. The room contained no light, doused in complete darkness, save for the slightest shine of moonlight peeking through the window blinds. Luca could hear the steady beeping of the heart monitor and quiet breaths as Street slept. Luca sighed and grabbed a chair from the corner of the room, pulling it up next to Street's bed before plopping down in exhaustion.
Luca rubbed his eyes in exasperation. He should probably call the team, let them know one of their own was in the hospital. He really didn't feel up to a conversation – much less wake up another one of his teammates in the middle of the night – but he knew Hondo and the others would be pissed as hell if he didn't call them.
Luca fished out his phone and dialed Hondo's number, keeping an eye on Street's chest as it rose and fell steadily. It didn't take long for Hondo to answer.
"Luca?"
"Hey, boss."
"It's four in the morning, man. What's going on?"
"Yeah, yeah. Sorry about that. Uh, well, Street's in the hospital."
"…what?"
Luca huffed out a small laugh. Hondo's tone conveyed incredulity, anger, and worry all in one, and, hell, if that didn't sum up what Luca felt right now. "Yeah. He was suffering from a bad migraine tonight. Got worse about an hour or so ago. Had to take him to the E.R."
"Migraine? From what?"
"Well, you see, get this, the kid hid an injury from us."
Hondo paused again. "…he did what?!"
"Yup. I know. I had about the same reaction. Apparently, during the fight with Hemmings, his head got slammed into a metal pole-"
"I'm going to kill this kid."
"-and instead of telling anyone, he just casually pretended like he wasn't suffering from a monster headache, which later evolved into a full-blown migraine attack."
Hondo let out a long sigh. "Good Samaritan Hospital?"
"Yup."
"I'm on way."
"You don't have to, you know. He's knocked out right now."
"I'm on my way, Luca."
Luca gulped nervously. "Uh, right. See you soon, boss." Hondo ended the call.
He watched Street sleep for a little while, choosing to bounce his leg to keep himself awake until Hondo arrived. Street looked more peaceful now than he had in the past several hours. Luca ran a hand through his hair. The kid had been a complete mess, and Luca didn't want to see him like that ever again. He bet Street would wish the same, too.
He couldn't help but feel angry, though. He wasn't mad about staying up to help his roommate or take care of him. No, he was pissed Street even thought it was a good idea to hide a head injury from them. What kind of idiot does that? Luca snorted. Oh, Street was in for it when he woke up. And Luca called first dibs.
xxxxxxx
The first thing Street felt when he woke up was…nothing. He wanted to cry. The stabbing, piercing pain had disappeared, leaving him clear-minded and pain-free. He could remember most of the night before. He could almost feel the embarrassment creeping up his neck as memories of Luca carrying him, watching him throw up, sitting with him, and massaging him flooded his mind. Street hadn't wanted to crawl in a hole and die more than he did now.
But, unfortunately, he couldn't do that, so he just settled for opening his eyes.
His eyes felt glued shut and it was hard to open them, but once he did, he could see the sunlight pouring through the window to his right. He cast a glance around the room. Luca was on his phone in a chair next to his bed, a cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee in his hand, seemingly not noticing that Street was awake.
"Luca?" His voice sounded hoarse and small, but it was better than nothing.
Luca's head shot up, and he tossed his phone onto the side table with complete disregard. He straightened in his chair, and Street could see the relief in his eyes. "Hey, man. How are you feeling?"
"Better," Street murmured.
"Migraine gone?"
Street gave an affirmative noise from the back of his throat.
Luca nodded. "Good, good." He casually placed his coffee on the table as well. Street narrowed his eyes at his tone. He sounded calm…too calm.
"So, just to be clear, no migraine?"
"No migraine," Street answered slowly, if not a bit apprehensive.
"Alright, good. So then it won't hurt too much when I yell at you about how much of a fucking idiot you are." Luca glared at Street, anger coating his face.
Street winced. "I'm…sorry?"
"Yeah, you damn well should be," Luca snapped. "The hell were you thinking, Street? Hiding a head injury? Are you kidding me?"
"I-"
"No, no, no. You don't get to speak yet." Luca scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Do you know how much worse off you could have been? A cut? Whatever, that's fine. So long as you clean it and watch for an infection, you're good. Bruises? Pop an ibuprofen. Take a bath with Epsom salts if you want to. That's fine. A head injury? You are out of your goddamn mind, Street!"
"I didn't think it'd get that bad-"
Luca threw his hands up in the air in frustration. "You got your head slammed into a metal pole, Street! Our helmets can only protect us from so much! So, yes, you're going to feel the consequences later. I don't even care if you got a goddamn paper cut, you tell us."
"I'm sorry."
Luca glared at him a little longer before closing his eyes and sighing deeply. He sagged back into his chair, exhausted. He still had yet to get any sleep and he was certainly feeling it now.
"Listen, kid, I know you have trust issues or whatever, but you cannot be doing this, man. I was scared shitless. I had to call Chris in the middle of the goddamn night to make sure you weren't dying!" Luca took a deep breath, opening his eyes and looking at his ashamed roommate. "I don't want you to apologize for keeping me awake or staying with you. That was completely my choice, and, trust me, I don't mind. I would do it again in a heartbeat, but you have to understand that if you don't tell Hondo or Deacon or anybody that you got hurt, you have to at least tell me. This could've been a helluva lot worse."
"I know," Street muttered. "I'll tell you next time. Promise."
Luca nodded. "Okay." He reached for his coffee and took a small sip. "You sure you're okay? That your headache's gone?"
"Yeah, I'm sure."
Luca smirked. "Good, 'cause I can hear Hondo coming down the hall. And he just got his morning coffee."
Street's eyes widened in horror. "Are you serious?"
"He's been here with me for the past three hours, and, man, let me tell you, he has some words to say."
Street groaned loudly, just as Hondo walked in the door, coffee cup in hand. He took one cautious look at Street before turning to Luca. "Migraine gone?"
"Yup," Luca replied happily, though not just because Street was feeling better. This was going to be fun to watch.
"And he's good for conversation?"
"No, I'm not."
"All yours, boss."
Hondo whirled on Street. "Boy, what the hell were you thinking?"
Street placed his hands over his face. "Kill me now," he pleaded quietly.
"No, no. You don't get off that easy. A head injury, Street? You could've had a serious concussion, or worse! You can't hide that shit from us! We need to know these things, is that clear?"
"Yes, boss," Street replied miserably, dropping his hands and looking at Hondo tiredly.
Hondo merely shook his head and sighed. "What am I gonna do with you?"
Luca opened his mouth, ready to tease Street, when Chris came barreling into the hospital room, Deacon and Tan following close behind. Each of them had a coffee cup in their hands, but their appearance said they just rolled out of bed. They looked to Luca and Hondo.
"Migraine?" Chris asked.
"All gone!" Luca answered, his joyful grin widening even more. God, this was great.
Street glared at him. "You're enjoying this too much."
Luca laughed and winked. "Oh, bud, not enough."
"And you're sure he's good? No serious injury or anything?" Deacon prompted, a worried look on his face.
Hondo shook his head. "Doc said he should be fine."
"So we don't have to worry about it coming back?" Tan questioned, just for one last confirmation.
"It shouldn't."
"Good," Deacon hummed quietly. The three immediately turned to Street, who raised his eyes to the ceiling in a silent prayer.
"What the hell were you thinking?!" Chris yelled.
"God, help me," Street whispered.
Luca snorted into his coffee. "Nice try, but even God can't save you now."
