Many thanks to my beta Elenna of Polished Quill - she's amazing and patient.

This one is for you, PernDragonRider. Without your encouragement I'd just quit.

Deke had stripped off his shirt, sweat pouring down his muscular torso as he picked up the chunks of concrete and tossed them to the side. There was an intense look of concentration on his face, and his lips were set in a determined line.

Chris smiled, shaking her head and remembering the pictures they had seen of a young, chubby Deacon Kaye, hanging on the wall in the restaurant his father owned. She glanced behind her, where Hondo and Boxer were likewise engaged in shifting the larger debris. Hondo was handling larger pieces, and though Boxer looked like he was in pain as he lifted the concrete, he did not complain or slow down.

Chris was prying at the tightly packed mounds of debris, loosening them up with a tire iron so that the others could more easily get a hold on it and move it away from the buried door. She wished she had kept her gloves on when they had finished the simulation instead of dropping them on the floor with the rest of her tac gear, since her hands were cramped and she had a blister on her right hand—the tools were not exactly designed for comfortable use in this kind of situation.

The heat and the stillness of the air were getting to him, making him groggy, and Street rubbed at his eyes. "God, what I wouldn't do for a cold beer and a couple of aspirin right now."

Luca did not reply, and Street lifted his head to look at him. Luca was still, lying prone, his eyes closed.

"Luca? Come on, man, you have to stay awake and talk to me."

"Shut up. I'm tired, okay," he snapped. "It's been a long day, and I just wanna sleep."

"If you have a head injury, you shouldn't sleep."

"I don't have a head injury. It's just a cut, and I'm tired, so leave me alone."

"Talk to me."

"Talk to yourself, man; I hate you, you hate me, so let's let it go at that and get some sleep."

"I don't hate you," Street scoffed. "You're just highly annoying." He was silent for a moment, trying to think of something to say to start a conversation. "Why did you join SWAT?"

"What do you want to hear?" Luca replied angrily, his eyes flashing. "Guns are what I know, shooting people is my gift, and I joined SWAT because the whole point is to not kill people. I'm sick of waking up screaming in the middle of the night 'cause I can see the people I killed. Do you have any idea what it's like?"

A pause; then, "Yeah, I do."

"Right, boy scout. What did you do—accidentally run down a little old lady who was jaywalking?"

"I killed my partner Brian, and sometimes I dream that he comes back and wants to know why," Street finally said, perhaps a little more harshly than he'd intended.

"You killed your partner." Luca laughed bitterly. "I guess that means I should watch my step around you. Why did you kill him?"

"It was me or him: he'd convinced TJ to turn on us, to betray us for money while we were transporting a high-level prisoner. Brian shot Boxer, and when I caught up with him and we fought, he lost."

"Brian was your friend?"

"We met in the academy; came up together and won our spots on the team together. Five years working together and he threw that all away."

"Sounds like you blame yourself for what happened."

"I killed my friend." Street rubbed at the thin scar on the back of his right hand. "It's my fault."

"You didn't throw him into that spot—he went there all by himself."

"I should have stopped him."

"You were his friend, not his mother," Luca pointed out. "You couldn't stop him if that was what he wanted to do."

"I still feel responsible."

"You gotta let it go," Luca said softly. "If you keep hanging on to it, it'll eat you up from the inside out."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience."

"My XO in Iraq gave me the same speech after my first tour."

"He's a smart man. Is he still in the Marines?"

"The last I heard, he was a sniper with a SWAT team in Florida."

"You Jarheads are all adrenaline junkies."

With an exasperated sigh, the younger man shook his head. "Just when I think you aren't such an ass after all, you open your mouth and ruin it. So what were you? A Ranger?"

"SEAL."

"That figures."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Coast dwellers are always water babies."

"Wait till I get out of here and I'll show you who's a water baby."

The debris shifted, and Luca crouched over the other man, shielding him from the worst of the dust and dirt coming down, and Street started coughing.

"What's going on?"

"I think Hondo and the others are trying to dig us out."

"Or bury us more."

"You're such a pessimist."

"And you're a ray of sunshine?"

Street quirked an eyebrow in disbelief, and the younger man just rolled his eyes.

"They better hurry up and get us out of here, or I'm going to kill you just so I can have some peace and quiet."

A slab of concrete the size of a compact car began to teeter, and if it fell, it would clearly crush Street, so Luca put his back to it and pressed backward with all his strength, despite Street's protests.

"You can't hold that up!"

"You're not my father," Luca grunted, "so don't tell me what I can't do!"

Street covered his face with his arms as more debris fell on him.

"Fancy meeting you here," Chris remarked then, crouching beside him.

"It's about time!"

Deke ignored the complaint and moved to stand beside Luca, his back to the slab. "I'll hold it up."

"No! I have it—just get Street out of here. You and Hondo can lift the piece of wall; Chris and Boxer can pull him out."

Deke went back with Hondo, and together they managed to lift the slab high enough for Chris and Boxer to drag Street out from under it.

"Deke," Hondo ordered as they carried Street out, "grab the kid."

"I'm not a kid!" Luca protested.

"Right."

Deke wrapped his arms around Luca's waist and yanked the smaller man back. They tumbled to the ground outside, and the opening collapsed mere inches from their feet.

"You can let go of me now," Luca grumbled.

"Sure, sure," Deke answered, but he did release the other man. "You are a mess, man," he added, noticing the shredded shirt.

"You know, Hondo, I don't think I want to have this kind of team building exercise every time we're up for the fitness review. My wardrobe can't afford it," Luca quipped, examining the holes in the front of his shirt.

"I don't think the city can afford this as a test every year, but it certainly was interesting," Hondo replied just as dryly.

"Come on—let's get you guys in the truck and to the hospital."

"I don't need to go to the hospital," Luca objected, glaring at Boxer. "I'm just scratched up."

"If this is what you call a scratch," retorted Boxer, pressing a bandage to the side of Luca's head, "I'd hate to see what you consider a cut."

"Come on, macho man--someone has to keep Street company," Chris teased. "And besides, you wouldn't want to miss out on meeting all those beautiful California girls that work at the hospital, would you?"