Street drew deep breaths and held the air in, following the doctor's orders. He hated not seeing other than the mattress and a glimpse of the now useless monitors while all eyes in the room were glued to him.

"Something wrong?" he asked impatiently.

"Please, be quiet a little longer, Jim," nurse Cindy softly reproached him.

Doctor Bell didn't say a word too much while pressing his hands now carefully, now more energetically on Street's back. Initially, the latex of the gloves had done nothing to shield Street from the cold hands of his caretaker, but now that the examination had been going on for so long, his whole back had warmed up comfortably.

Street let his mind wander to the last week, to the way he had to make up to Sue and to his friends for his behavior during his last failed therapy session ten days ago. It had been surprisingly easy with all of them. The therapist had been understanding and supporting, while everyone else, from Chris to Deacon, had shown him more than ever they would not abandon him just because he was an ass. There had been quite numerous remarks on that point, actually, the one of him being an ass, of course, because the silent presence and quiet patience was the loudest proof they will never leave him alone regardless of anything.

"Alright," the doctor finally said before turning to the therapist, who was waiting in the corner of the room. "You did a really good job with him, Max. He's ready earlier than expected," Bell continued while the nurse helped Street in a sitting position.

"It's not all on me," Max said. "Jim had his ups and downs, but he's the one who put in the real effort."

"Thanks, I guess." Street looked from one to the other. "What does this mean exactly?"

"That you hit your in-patient rehab mark," the therapist smiled.

"I did?" Street swallowed. This was good news, wasn't it?

Cindy put a hand on his shoulder. "You're going to be home very soon."

He swallowed again, his mouth dryer than the Sahara, then the corners of his mouth timidly lifted up. I'll be home soon.

"I'm discharging you in two days," doctor Bell said. "Just the time to perform another test, just for protocol, and fulfill the paperwork."

"And," Max added, "a few therapy sessions for you to learn how to properly operate on crutches."

"Crutches?" Street repeated. His brain was working surprisingly slow.

"We'll send you home with a wheelchair." The therapist approached and made sure Street was looking him straight in the face. "You ought to use it for the first few days of adaptation and whenever you feel tired, but other than that, you'll be strolling around with a pair of brand new crutches."

"Okay." Now Street's brain was racing. He will go home. He will be able to abandon the wheelchair eventually. He will be walking on his own feet, the crutches didn't seem such a big deal. "How long—"

Max didn't even let him finish. "You'll be stuck with the crutches for the whole first phase of your out-patient rehab. Meaning about another three or four weeks. Unless we decide to go for a cane, but that's way too soon to think about now."

Street had been so surprised to hear the good news that he didn't know how he actually felt now. He'd been waiting for this moment for almost three months. His chest filled with air. He was going to go home.

He reached out his hand to grab his phone. He needed to tell this to Chris and the others. No, maybe it was better to tell only Luca. Yeah, Luca. He would need his help once he was living at his place again.

And then it hit him. He would need help. Despite the progress, the chair, the crutches, and everything, he still wasn't completely self-sufficient. He still wasn't allowed to crutch or bend both legs at the same time; he couldn't even lace his own shoes. He needed some help with the shower too, but maybe that would not be a problem since he could wash up at the rehab center every day after the session. And he couldn't drive, not a car, let alone his bike. How he missed his bike. He would have to rely on Uber and rides from his friends.

Street did want to go home with every fiber of his body, but the thought of being a burden to Luca and the others were almost unbearable. Could he ask them that much? After all that he had already put them through with his mood swings these last three months?

... ... ...

Luca shook the drizzle out of his hair and peeked his head inside Street's hospital room with a big smile on his face. He'd been stuck with a grin for the last two days; he just couldn't help it after hearing the good news. Moreover, luck wanted that 20-David would only be on call and not on full duty, so he could go picking up Street in person. He would take his roomie back home and just wipe the last few months out of his memory. He could finally look at the room where Street had laid motionless and suffering alone that cursed night and feel whole again. Because his brother was back home.

Back to the present, Street was sitting in a wheelchair while nurse Cindy helped him collect all his belongings. "Do you have everything, sweetheart?"

"Guess so," Street slowly scanned the room; his look morphed from uncertain to smiley as his eyes matched Luca's. "You're here."

"Of course, man. Ready to go?"

Street looked up at the nurse; in his eyes, there was something that fanned Luca's concern for a split second. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm ready." Street put on a stiff smile. "It's about time."

"Yes, honey," Cindy said. "It's time for you to go back to your life." She smiled kindly.

"You're not gonna miss me?"

"Are you going to miss us?"

"Not all your scolds and scowls." Street shrugged. "Okay, maybe I'll be missing you girls a little."

"Thanks for the girl."

"Anytime."

"Yeah, okay," Luca said, grabbing Street's bag. "I got it, you would prefer thoughtful women to put you to bed rather than this man" —he motioned at himself— "but I guess you will have to put up with it."

"Don't be jealous, Luca. I'll put up with anything if that means I'm going home with you."

"Let's move then," Luca said, glancing at his watch. He was still on call, and he didn't want to miss the chance to see his friend entering his house for the first time after so long, but if his phone started ringing, he would have to.

Much to Street's annoyance, Cindy insisted on pushing the wheelchair all the way to the entrance. Hospital policy, she said. Luca followed them, gripping on the same bag he'd brought in there almost three months ago when this nightmare had only been at its start.

"Alright," the nurse said once they reached the entrance hall. "This is a goodbye then."

"It's been good to meet you, Cindy. You know, despite the circumstances and everything."

"I've been honored to meet you, Jim." She smiled. "Despite your attitude and everything, I mean."

Luca could swear he saw Street's ears grow a darker shade of pink. "Sorry about my tantrums…" Street said, "and thanks for not condescending to them. I needed a kick in the ass from time to time."

Cindy stepped aside to grab something from out of Luca's sight, then turned to him and stuffed a pair of crutches in his arms. "It will be your job to keep him on track, now. Can I trust you?"

"I'm ready to kick him in the ass anytime, miss nurse."

"Just until I'm able to kick you back."

Luca's smile broadened. "I can't wait to see you trying."

After their final goodbyes, they watched the nurse go back inside. In Street's look, there was again a shadow Luca couldn't quite name. Could that be fear?

Of course, Street insisted on pushing the wheelchair on his own all the way from the entrance to Luca's pick-up truck. Luca reluctantly let him do and preceded him there to throw bag and crutches in the back seat. While keeping a concerned eye on his friend, he waited with the passenger door open.

"You need any hel—"

"Nope," Street cut him short, pushing on the wheelchair's armrests to get on his feet. He first leaned on the truck, then awkwardly and slowly managed to climb in. He laid his back on the seat and tried to relax his muscles. "I'm ready to go home. What are we waiting for?"

Luca managed a smile and worked on the wheelchair to fold it before putting it on the back of the truck. He was so ready to have him back.

All the way, Luca kept checking on Street with more or less discrete glances; his friend's silence was, as always, hard to decode.

"Can you stop that, please?" Street said at last. "I'm not some kind of fragile cargo that will break if you hit a bump in the road."

"Sorry. I just can't believe you're really coming home." The buzz of his phone on the holder made him briefly glance away from the road, concerned it could be an official call to action. Instead, Tan's name appeared, and the preview of the text asked if everything was going okay.

"You told them," Street said in a reproaching tone.

Luca shrugged. "What did you expect? They called me out on my excitment. And they were excited too after they heard the good news."

Street looked ahead, quietly adjusting his position on the seat.

"I still don't get why you didn't want to tell them the actual time you were getting discharged."

"So they could throw me a welcome home party?" Street eyed Luca for a split second, then turned his head again to look at the road ahead, gripping the door handle. "Tell me you're not planning anything."

"You were pretty clear you didn't want a big party." Luca glanced at his phone again; it was too late now to send the guys back to their homes. Besides, he was sure Street didn't really mean it. All his annoyance would disappear the moment he saw the smiling faces of his team family.

"The last PT this morning had been pretty intense," Street continued. "I just want to lay down on my own bed. Man, it's been ages since I slept in my room without monitors or IV or nurses coming and going without knocking."

Luca's mind flew back to that cursed night and to the horror that had gripped at his heart when finding Street laid face-down on the floor, scared out of his mind.

"Is it still my room, right? You didn't change anything while I was away, did you?"

"No. I didn't touch anything. Well, aside from cleaning up and putting in some order. Don't you dare complain to me about leaving my socks around after I saw the mess in your room."

"Yeah, because that's my room." Street swallowed hard. "I don't leave my dirty laundry on the dinner table." He swallowed again. It occurred to Luca that Street had not taken his eyes off the road for the last few minutes.

"You okay, man? Your face turned a pale green."

Street slowly nodded without turning to Luca; the color of his face did definitely not bode anything good.

"You want me to pull over?"

"Relax, Luca," he slowly exhaled. "I won't throw up in your truck."

"I'm not worried about the truck."

Street swallowed, then managed a weak smirk. "Not even a little?"

"Okay, maybe a little," Luca said, but what he was actually concerned about was his friend's struggles. His mind ran to the possibility Street could actually feel sick and focused on the humiliation his friend would have to endure if the rest of the team saw him climbing down the truck all covered in puke. "You sure you don't want me to pull over?"

"I'm fine," Street managed while lowering the car window. "I just need some air." He took a few deep breaths. "Just keep driving and take me home quickly, would you?"

"You sure?"

"Yeah, positive."

Luca glanced at him, more worried than ever. He hated to be the one responsible for his friend's sufferings. "Alright, but don't tell the others I gave you motion sickness. They will not let me drive Black Betty ever again."

Street's intake of breath was audible. "I will be surprised that you will even let me in Black Betty again if I start having motion sickness for the way you drive." He breathed in deeply another couple times. "You're safe. This is not your fault."

Of course, this statement didn't lift Luca's spirit at all. "Just hang on, we're almost there."

A bunch of minutes later Street's condition had not improved, but at least they finally were in sight of their home.

"For real?" Street managed, seeing Hondo, Deacon, Tan, and Chris standing in the courtyard with an over-excited Duke. "I told you I didn't want to see anyone." He stifled a gag and swallowed hard. "I don't want them to see me like this."

"They are your family. They wanted to be here for you." Luca parked the truck as near as he could to the entrance. "No one is going to judge you," he said, trying to sound upbeat despite the concern and guilt creeping up inside him. No one could have imagined Street not to feel good today.

"Alright." Street took a deep breath. "But I want to use the crutches."

"Sorry, man." Luca sighed. "You need to use the wheelchair for a couple more days. Doctor orders." He peered at his friend then put on a bright smile. "Or do you want that bossy nurse to come hard at me for being too condescending?"

Street swallowed. Mixed emotions flashed on his face, all covered by the pale tinge and the effort not to be sick right there.

Luca hopped off the truck, throwing a meaningful look at his expecting friends, and headed to the back to take the wheelchair down. He just hoped they would understand to patiently wait in the distance and not put even more pressure on their struggling friend.

"Here." Luca positioned the chair and held out a hand for his friend to grab, but he refused it.

"At least let me do this on my own." Street looked up, determined.

Luca stepped back, one eye on Street and one on the rest of the team. Had they already sniffed there was something off?

As soon as Street had laboriously settled himself on the wheelchair, he started toward the house, leaving Luca there to collect the bag and the crutches from the back seat of the truck. The team started cheering up, all smiles. Street looked up at them, trying to force a smile too, but after two seconds, he wheeled himself inside the house as fast as he could. The light on the guys' faces subsided, and all eyes shot to Luca.

"Should someone follow him?" Tan asked, forcefully calm, observing Duke tottering inside.

Luca made a step inside to lay crutches and bag down in a corner, then got out again, shaking his head. "Just give him a minute."

Hondo peered at the door, then at Luca. "What's wrong with him?"

Tan, too, watched from Luca to the rest of the team to the door. "Did your drive give him motion sickness?"

"He is just tired. He had not left that hospital bed for three weeks. He's just…" Luca didn't exactly know how to go on. He didn't want to admit he was part of the reason Street was feeling unwell. "It's normal that he feels a bit off. It's nothing."

"He's overwhelmed," Chris broke the silence that now hovered around them. "We should have seen that coming."

"Come on, get that I-told-you-so look off your face," Tan said. "You wanted to see him as much as we did. It didn't take us too much effort to convince you to come to the welcome home party."

"Someone should go make sure he's okay," Deacon interjected before Chris or anyone else could retort.

... ... ...

Street pivoted the wheelchair at the best of his ability, then gingerly stood up and dragged himself to the sink. Since Luca had done a fine job making the house accessible for his new ride, Street had not had any trouble quickly reaching the bathroom, but inside the room, the logistics were a whole other story.

His hands gripped tight around the sink's edge for balance, and Street bent awkwardly forward, with the lower extremity of his back-brace pressing at his guts. He took a long sip of running water: anything to wash away the acrid taste in his mouth and keep nausea under control. Then, weak and unfocused, he closed the tap, drew a deep breath, and ungracefully dipped his face in the filled basin.

It was all harder than expected, not at all how he'd imagined coming back home.

Street emerged from the sink, cool water dripping down his cheeks and chin. Of all the tricks my body could play against me, he thought, lifting his head to watch himself in the mirror, why motion sickness too? Why take away the pleasure of riding a car when my bike is already out of the question?

"Do you need any help in there?" Chris's voice called from outside the ajar door.

Street took a deep breath, trying to swallow back the taste of bile. "I'm fine."

"Luca had good intentions, you know." She entered anyway, but since he could not turn back to face her all that easily, he only glanced at her through the mirror above the sink. She handed him a towel. "We all had."

"Yeah." Street hid his face in the towel, not bearing Chris's look nor his pale reflection. "It's been a long morning and— and my stomach seems to not agree with anything involving food or drinks."

"You don't have to convince me about that. From the sounds of it, your stomach clearly is upset," Chris said, grabbing the wheelchair's handles and moving it closer to him. "But you'll have to try harder to convince me there isn't more."

Great, she didn't only see me struggling out of the truck, she also heard me being sick, Street thought. He took a deep breath and, with Chris holding the chair still, he managed to sit without too much fatigue, but her silence was pressing.

He shook his head. "I didn't expect this being so— I didn't want to disappoint you."

She stepped back, waiting for him to turn the chair, but he didn't. He couldn't face her now. "Why would you think that?" she said at last.

"I saw your looks when I got out from Luca's truck. The way you looked at this stupid thing… to me wheeling myself toward you."

"We were prepared for the wheelchair. We didn't expect to see that expression on your face." Chris moved sideways to better see his face. "Yes, this one. Care telling me what that is about?"

Street sighed. "That's why I didn't want a welcome home party."

Chris managed to turn the wheelchair a few inches in her direction and kept staring at him. She'd switched to the unsettling way of staring only she could manage, the one that made it impossible for him to lie to her.

"Damn. I only wanted to enter home on my own legs. I wanted you to see me on my feet, even though with the crutches. Showing you I'm getting there."

"We know you're getting there. And we don't care about wheelchairs and crutches. We just want to see you happy. The guys were convinced this little gathering would lift your spirit up."

"But you weren't."

Chris shrugged.

Street couldn't help a smile tugging at his mouth. "You know me too well. It's scary."

She shook her head. "Show me I was wrong."

He drew a deep breath, still a little queasy. He hated to admit it, but after almost three months in the hospital, sitting in a moving car for a while had screwed him up pretty well. The fresh air and the air of home had been tasty for too little before the bitter reality caught up with him. The ride had unsettled his stomach, and his body was worn out too. No, being out of the hospital should not feel like this.

"Have you made up your mind yet?" Chris interrupted his thoughts.

"About what?"

"You want me and the guys to leave now?"

"No." Street took another deep breath. "Just… give a minute, okay? I'll be right there."

"With a more suitable expression?"

He snorted a scoff. "Yeah. With a more suitable expression."

Street couldn't begin to express how hard he'd dreamed about one of Luca's parties. He couldn't even think it possible how much he cherished to feel part of the group again, to do ordinary things with his friends. Feel normal again.

But this wasn't it.

This would quickly become a pity party, and faking a smile on their behalf seemed out of his reach. He physically couldn't do that. And the more frustrated he got with his body, the harder the whole thing was for him. But he hated the idea of his friends seeing him struggling again and again. It was a stroke of luck that from the sitting position he was in he couldn't look at himself in the mirror. He couldn't bear it if the reflection was this one.

At that moment, Duke sneaked inside the bathroom and positioned himself so Street could easily pet him.

Okay, Jim. He drew a deep breath, the air started to taste like home again. Yes, even the bathroom air. You just go there now, he ordered himself, show them your gratitude and excuse yourself. They will understand.

"Let's go, buddy," he said aloud, making the dog follow him.

His friend's hushed voices wafted through the living room from the open door that led to the courtyard. Not exactly the sounds of a successful party. Street put a smile on his face, hoping it would bring some color to his skin too, and wheeled himself outside.

Chirs's encouraging look was the first one his eyes matched, then he crossed the guys' slightly more worried ones.

"That's my man," Luca said, approaching him. He seemed to not understand so well Street's need to be independent. "Feel better?"

"Yeah," he half-lied, glancing at all the food and drinks laid on the wooden table in their yard. He was sure on another occasion that sweet smell would have made his mouth water and his stomach growl in anticipation, but now it only made keeping a relaxed face a lot more difficult.

"Guatemalan," Luca said, helpfully nodding at the food. "You remember Xiomara? Nice lady, leaves down the block?"

Street nodded, trying not to stare at the goods on the table as his stomach tightened.

"Here, take a ginger ale," Tan offered. "Should help with the consequences of Luca's shitty driving earlier."

"Hey! It wasn't my fault!"

Street took the can but didn't bother opening it. "Look, guys, thanks for all this. It seems all great, but" —he forced his lips to curve— "I think I need to lay down for a bit now. Doctor ordered me to take it easy for a couple days."

"Luca, take his temperature," Tan smirked. "This is serious. He just decided to spontaneously follow orders."

Street scoffed, still well aware of the weight on his stomach and the slight ache in his back. "So now you want me to ignore orders?"

"No one ever said that, kid," Hondo solemnly said.

"We'd better go," Deacon suggested.

"Oh, no. Please, stay." Street tried to look them all in the eyes. "Just because I have to act like an old man, it doesn't mean you can't enjoy the food and the drinks. Wait, is that non-alcoholic beer?"

Chris shook her head. "We're on call, remember?"

"Are you sure you want us to stay?" Deacon asked.

Street nodded. "Yeah. I'm so tired I would sleep through a frat party." He glanced over at the table, swallowed hard, and continued, "and I don't want all this food to be wasted. On-call or not, you still have to have lunch, right?"

There was a general exchange of looks, then Hondo nodded.

"I'll save you some of this for later," Luca said. "You'll see, it's amazing."

"Yeah." Street controlled a wave of nausea, barely noticing Hondo stepping away to answer his phone. "For later."

Luca smiled. "Let's go to your room then."

Tan motioned them to glance at Hondo. "Looks like the party's over anyway."

"Hicks wants us at HQ in thirty," Hondo confirmed a moment later. They all looked at each other, then at the food, then down at Street.

"What are you waiting for? Go."

"With my drive, I can catch up with you after settling things here," Luca said.

"We've got this," Chris nodded, motioning the guys to pack the food. "So you can take grandpa to bed before we go."

Street tried to protest, despite knowing he needed his friend's help, but Hondo interrupted him. "It will take us five minutes. Luca, see you at the HQ."

"With his drive, he'll even precede you," Street said.

"Let's see about that," Tan teased.

"And you, kid," Hondo squared him, "you better behave."

Street nodded. "And you don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"It doesn't sound like solid advice," Chris mocked him, bumping her fist on his shoulder before he wheeled himself toward his room, followed by Luca and Duke.

"Let's make it quick." Street blocked the chair at the side of his bed, refusing his friend's help to do the transfer. He just took a deep breath, forced on his arms first, then to his legs, and succeeded in landing his butt almost gracefully on the mattress. "You're SWAT, not my butler," he continued through gritted teeth.

"Don't worry about that." Luca knelt to remove Street's shoes so his friend could lay on the bed. "The brace too?"

"Yeah..." Street couldn't stop a grimace from perturbing his features; his back was not enjoying the process of taking off sweatshirt and brace.

As he was all settled, Street saw with the corner of his eye Luca disappearing into the corridor. He focused on his breathing, inhaling counting to four, exhaling counting to four… He hated needing so much help and forcing his friends to take care of him.

"Here," Luca reappeared with two extra pillows. "For comfort."

"It's fine." Street closed his eyes, exhaustion weighing him down.

"You had a few at the hospital, I thought…"

"Give them here," Street said, opening his eyes to Luca's beaten expression. "Thanks, man, but you should get a move on. Team has been called in, remember?"

"I'll catch up. How do you want the pillow?"

Street smiled weakly. If he hated being taken care of this way, at least it seemed Luca didn't mind the task. He was just happy to be useful. Typical of him.

"Need anything else?"

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Just go. You're running late."

"You sure you'll be able to put the brace back on if you need to get up for—"

"I'm sure," Street interrupted his friend, then took a moment to think "Luca?" he added at last.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. Really. But now let me sleep."

Luca smiled one of his most heartwarming smiles. "Okay, okay. Got it." He turned to Duke. "I leave him in your care, buddy."

The dog jumped on the foot of Street's bed and gently made his way to lay next to Street, who lifted his hand slightly to pet him.

"Alright, I'll just go then."

"Roll SWAT," Street yelled after him.

"Stay liquid," Luca's voice came proud and clear.

Street turned to Duke. "Just you and me then." He exhaled loudly and forced his muscles to relax. Now the nausea was almost expired, but being home still gave him mixed feelings. The last time he was here in this very room alone, he was scared out of his mind, and next thing, two strangers were dragging him out on a stretcher, helpless and hopeless as he'd ever been.

But it was different now. This was a new start.

... ... ...