Garlic and tomato scent wafted through the air. Street laid on the rim of the kitchen counter in front of the stove, distractedly stirring the sauce in the sizzling pan with a wooden spoon. He couldn't help but continually glance at the wall clock or just keep one eye on boiling pasta and the other on his phone.
He dragged the stool nearer and rested there for a minute. He hated how little autonomy his body had, but he knew all too well not to push past its limits. Not yet. Only once he was fully recovered would he be able to go back to work out full power and put himself back in shape, a better shape than he'd ever been. For now, he had to settle just to not stand longer than half an hour at times and hope that taking Luca by his stomach would distract him from mocking too much, or even worse, expressing his concern.
Duke came to him, puppy eyes in full display for the tenth time this evening, and Street felt a pang of tenderness but forced himself to sternness. He'd been home for five days now, and Luca had already warned him that he was spoiling the dog too much. "Sorry, bud, there's nothing for you here."
Soft yelps followed his words.
"No. No way." Street straightened himself. "I'm not buying it anymore. You'll get nothing until you do what I asked you for." He threw a helpless look to the floor in front of the fridge then went back to the dog. "Please?"
Finally, the door unlocked, and a creaking was followed by Luca's "Honey, I'm home!"
Street smiled a bit wearily. How many times did he have to endure this joke again? But then he looked down at himself, and, well, yes, at this very moment, he seemed domesticated enough to be called the housewife here.
Luca sniffed soundly at the air, glancing over to him. "Yo, man, you cooked?"
Street shrugged. "I got bored."
"So you made pasta marinara? You shouldn't have bothered," Luca said, his concern seeping through in his voice.
"You don't trust my abilities?"
"Should I?" Luca smirked, but his inquiring eyes didn't leave Street's face. "Are you sure you okay? I mean your back—"
"I'm fine," Street rushed. The moment of truth, he thought, awkwardly fidgeting while stirring the sauce. "My back is perfectly fine, my legs hold up well, and I can easily reach the stove while sitting on the stool, see?" He motioned down at himself.
Luca's deep blue eyes didn't seem to loosen up the pressure on Street.
"Okay, the whole truth is that I dropped the crutches a couple hours ago while digging into the fridge for a snack," Street admitted, opening his arms and holding his palms up. "Haven't been able to pick them up, and without them, I couldn't bring myself to go anywhere besides dragging myself from the kitchen island to the fridge ."
Luca's look dropped to the floor where Street's crutches lay, his features contracting in a concerned grimace.
"It was not that bad. I had my phone, where I could look for simple recipes, and all the ingredients were at hand."
"You could also have called someone with that phone, you know?"
Frustration caught Street's chest and raised to his head. "For what?" He took a deep breath; it was not fair to leash out on Luca for this. "I told you, it wasn't that bad, and I didn't have anywhere else to go."
Luca shook his head. "I'm sure Timo was home. You have his number, right? He would have been more than happy to come by and take advantage of the situation to play pinball for a while. I'm sure his mom—"
"I didn't need the kid's help," Street cut short, heat rising up to him. Why couldn't he be completely self-sufficient?
Luca's eyes darted down at Duke, then to the crutches still on the floor. "Have you tired—"
"You think I'm that stupid? I've tried anything to make him pick them up for me. Even corrupting him." Street shook his head in dismay. "It didn't work. I think he may have a phobia or something."
"Duke, go catch it," Luca ordered.
The dog eyed his owner, then waggled to the spot where the crutches lay, picked one up in his mouth, and took it to Street.
"Oh, now you do that?" He looked down in disbelief and betrayal, taking the crutch in his hands.
"Good boy," Luca chuckled loudly. "You know, Street, the treat system works better if you treat the dog after he'd fulfilled his task."
"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," Street scoffed, then mouthed a 'traitor' to Duke as he took the second crutch to him.
"Come on now," Luca said. "Let me take over dinner. You just go relax on the couch."
Street put his reacquired crutches safely at reach instead of relying on them. "I'm used to finishing what I start."
"It's not for you," Luca said, more serious than ever. "I still don't trust your cooking abilities."
Street chuckled and gave up, handing the wooden spoon to his friend before tucking the crutches under his armpits. In the last couple of hours, he'd almost forgotten how uncomfortable they could be when that hard plastic rubbed on his skin, even through the fabric of his shirt.
I'm getting there, he had to repeat himself to not let frustration win him over. Trying to shake off the thought of how useless he felt, he plopped on the couch and observed Luca's every move to make sure he didn't screw up the recipe he'd started. This was not much different from what usually happened before his injury. Luca was the king of the kitchen, not him. This was not his friend being over-accommodating; this was Luca being Luca.
The way he moved behind the stove reminded Street of the way he used to make them both breakfast right before getting down to HQ—when he still worked there. Then his mind flew back to the days when Luca was the one crushing on Street's couch in his old apartment, and he used to make up for eating all the leftovers and leaving the fridge plain.
Good times that he'd missed immensely for the three months confined in that darn hospital. These days though, even if he was back home, breakfast and dinner together didn't occur as often as before. They had different schedules, Luca still had his SWAT job, while Street… He had rehab, yes, but not much else to do if not wait on his ass that his body was ready again.
The unexpected contact of Duke's cold, damp snout on his hand stopped Street from going down memory lane and starting wandering the commiseration road. The dog was smart enough to know he'd better settle on demanding to be petted instead of going to bother Luca while he fixed the last detail for dinner. Caressing that golden fur, Street took in the air of home—that now smelled strongly of garlic—and couldn't help a smile. When did I become the indulgent and complacent parent here?
... ... ...
Chris stopped her truck in sight of the rehab facility's entrance and hurried off. Street was already waiting there, leaning against a wall with his crutches well tucked under his armpits. You wouldn't even tell he was wearing a back-brace if you didn't know it was well hidden under his jacket.
Street's eyes were lost at the horizon, and Chris lingered there a little longer, observing him. His hair was damp and messy, but not from sweat; she could clearly tell it. She couldn't help but smile at seeing him on his feet and with a relaxed, even though tired, expression on the face kissed by the sun.
"Did you order an Uber, sir?" She finally made herself noticed.
Street turned his head to her, a puzzled look on his face, then stepped away from the wall, leaning firmly on his crutches.
"Luca had something coming up at him before he could end the shift, so I offered to come instead."
He smiled and slowly started toward the parking lot. "You know I could have actually called an Uber, right? I do that all the time when you guys are working. You don't have to spend all your free time driving me around to my doctor's appointments."
Chris chose to ignore the guilty look on his face. They already had the you're-not-a-burden-to-any-of-us conversation multiple times. "So, you finally mastered the art of walking with those things, then?"
"Yeah, tell it to my armpits."
"Pass," she put on a smile but then darkened at the sight of his struggle at keeping up the pace, though well-hidden they were. "Sorry, I should have found a nearer parking place."
"I'm fine," he said as they reached the truck. "Except they used me up dry today, testing me up and down to see where I'm at."
Chris felt a tugging curiosity battle with apprehension. "And where are you at?"
"Outside your truck. Would you let me in? I need to sit down."
She shook her head and unlocked the doors. When he was settled, she took the crutches and put them in the back before hopping in the driver seat.
"What?" He asked, catching her inspecting eyes.
She looked away. He smelled of a weird mix of musky shower gel and arnica. "You know, Tan also offered to come, but I beat him at rock, paper, scissors." She turned to him again, handing him a pile of paper bags tied together with bright-red ribbon and bow. "He sends you these."
"Nice," Street said in an amused tone while taking the folder from her. "Just what I needed."
Chris's eyebrows raised on their own accord. Was he still struggling with transportations as he was the first few days out of the hospital?
"Relax, I'm just kidding," Street scoffed. "I won't be sick. Promise."
She threw him a concerned are-you-sure look. He'd been home a couple of weeks now, but it had never been 'her turn' to take him back after therapy; she had only taken him there a handful of times.
"I've never been seriously motion-sick since the day I was discharged from the hospital." As she kept staring at him, he continued, "Alright, it took me a while to not feel the slightest nausea, but I'm back as new now. Ready from crazy chases and dangerous maneuvers."
"Yeah," Chris shook her head while starting the engine, "let's wait a bit longer for those."
They were literally five minutes into the drive when Chris noticed Street had gone awfully quiet. She glanced at her right, but as soon her eyes landed on his sleeping baby face, a smile took over her concerned features. How hard had they worked him up today? Was it always like that? She made a mental note to ask Luca since she suspected that Street would never tell her the truth about it.
When she stopped the truck in front of the house, Street only gave a little toss in the seat; Chris had only one choice. She took out her phone and put it on mute so the sound of the camera going off wouldn't wake him up.
"You're drooling," she whispered in his ear at last.
"What?" His eyes popped open, and the back of his and flew to his mouth. "Did I really… Did I doze off? I'm sorry..."
She soundly laughed. "You should see your face."
"You didn't snatch me a picture to show the others, did you?"
She shrugged. "Come on, let's put you to bed."
He smirked through a layer of exhaustion. "Is that an offer?"
"Oh, shut up!" She gently punched him in the shoulder before hopping off the truck to fetch the crutches for him. "I wouldn't want to risk breaking you," she added, peeking at him from the back seat and watching his ears turning purple.
Stubbornly refusing Chris's help, Street tinkered with the crutches for a bit before being able to hop off the truck and drag himself inside the apartment. He was so stubborn, and it was so hard for her to let him do it on his own, but she gritted her teeth; insist too much, and he will push you away, she reminded herself. As soon as he was in sight of the couch, he veered there and slumped unceremoniously on it.
"I'm serious, Street," Chris watched him closely with her best don't-mess-with-me look, "do you need help getting to bed?" Things escalated quickly, she thought; the relaxed face kissed by the sun she saw half an hour ago was far from the pale and drained one she was looking at now.
"Couch is good. I want to wait for Luca," he said dreamily. "He promised me steaks for dinner."
She shook her head. "You look like crap, you know it?"
"I'm starting to feel it."
Chris's look didn't leave his face, even though he now laid back on the couch with his eyes closed. "Something else you need before I let you take a nap?"
He tried to straighten up, massaging his torso. "I can handle the back-brace alright," he said, taking off his jacket, but Chris helped him anyway. Then he looked down at his feet.
She ducked. "From Sleeping Beauty to Cinderella, nice upgrade," she said before he could verbalize his request for help.
"Don't worry, I showered at the rehab facility. Believe me, you would have immediately known if I didn't."
"That's why you smell like an old lady?"
He scoffed. "It's unbelievable. They're about to give me the green light to come back to work, and I still can't take on and off my shoes when I please."
Chris looked up at him, brightening. "They what?"
"They told me there was a chance I could be back on office duties starting on Monday."
She made a rapid count. "It's in four days. Why didn't you say something before?"
Street laid flat on his stomach, trying to accommodate the cushions. "I wanted to be sure it was true."
"That's why they did all those tests on you earlier today?" She looked at him sideways. "So what's the final word?"
"I'll be back," He smiled, closing his eyes. "But don't get over-excited. I will start part-time. And don't tell the others, I want to see their faces when I walk in at Luca's side on Monday morning."
"Fine." Chris smiled broadly, squaring him from head to toes. "Anything else before I go?"
"Um-uh… I need to cool down my back; doctor orders," he mumbled, already half-asleep and adjusting his position to lay more comfortably on his stomach. "There should be a cold pack in the refrigerator somewhere. Can you wrap it up in a towel and bring it here?"
Chris was shortly back with what Street had asked for. "Over or under the shirt?"
"Under. Put it there, at the center of my spine." He breathed out soundly, eyes closed, as she placed the cold thing on his skin, his pink and normal skin. Chris couldn't be happier in seeing every little trace of the hematoma had completely gone.
"I should go now, but Luca will not take long," she glanced at the clock. "You sure you don't need anything in the meantime?"
"I do not want to make a big deal…"
"About what?" she asked, but he wasn't talking to her anymore. She smiled at his baby face while he got lost more deeply in his sweet dreams. He will be back to work soon.
... ... ...