I've said it before, and I'll say it again: Hondo is an asshole, but he's never an asshole without reason, and this time, I knew – he damned well had a fucking good reason.
And the bastard is smart. Too fucking smart.
"Get them the hell of here," he clipped, hand on Sanchez' shoulder as he pushed past the cops, the coroners, the reporters. She stayed right by his side, grimacing, too lost in the fact that she had been shot twice in four months to really care that her partners were being ordered away from her.
Sitting down in the open compartment of the paramedics, she looked like typical Sanchez, pissed as hell, mouth drawn into a scowl of pain as they ripped off her sleeve, inspected her bloody bicep.
Burress and I had been exiled to the SWAT truck, guns off, hats hanging at our sides, like hockey players forced to sit in the penalty box, until Hondo was ready to deal with us.
"It looks like she'll be okay," Burress whispered, rubbing into his hair, agitated, fingers tapping against the truck.
I couldn't speak to him, too pissed at him, too pissed at myself, too pissed at Chris for letting this happen. What the fuck was wrong with me?!
Boxer dropped his helmet into the truck, angry clanks that mimicked the glare in his stare. "What the fuck was that?!" he said, before turning and heading to the paramedic truck, not even bothering to listen to an explanation.
Deke beside her, was quiet and calm, a smile on his face as he said something and poked in her shoulder, causing a short burst of laughter that warmed me slightly. She was going to be okay, even though the paramedic snapped at Deke and she snapped right back, before Hondo ordered them to shut up in a bark so loud that even we heard it.
With a glance, Deke excused himself, heading in our direction.
I glanced up, beseeching and speechless, too lost in my anger to do anything but plead with my eyes.
Maybe Deke knew, even then, because his smile faded slightly and he nodded, taking in an uneasy breath as he spoke to us both. "She's fine. It barely nicked her. Not even bad enough to be called a flesh wound, least not in my book."
Burress broke out into a smile, but the words, even as my heart stuttered and burst with relief, did nothing to help me. "She could have died, though."
"Nah, she's too stubborn for that." Planting his hand on my shoulder roughly, Deke squeezed for a brief second, before he left us, turning to pull himself into the truck.
It was a brief reprieve, but it wouldn't be enough. Hondo's glare was glittered with ice as he came forward.
"You take this truck back, and when I get there with Sanchez, the two of you better fucking be in my office." He spat on the ground, staring first at Burress, then at me, such anger and disappointment in his face, it was like looking at my father. "Get the hell out of my sight," he finally snapped, turning on his heel and heading back to Sanchez.
So we did – Deke and Boxer electing to stay with us, playing cards on the floor, squatting beside the door, laughing and speaking in over-dramatized tones that didn't fool either of us.
Burress looked pale, staring straight ahead, fingers clenching in the side of his chair, eyes bloodshot and refusing to blink.
This was my team. I should have cared. But my anger coursed through me, the image of Sanchez on the floor, sticky with blood, slicked over with what-ifs that were so much worse.
Burress should have known not to talk to me. But he did. Whispering to what he thought was his teammate, not his rival.
"She'll be fine. She's strong. It's not the first time she's been shot before."
I don't know who he was reassuring, him or me. I only ignored him, stubborn in my self-pity and recrimination.
"Listen, Jim – I don't want to start pointing fingers, but I feel this needs to be said-"
"Don't," I snapped, suddenly alert, slit eyes turning to catch his in a fevered glare. "Don't think you can talk to me about what I should or shouldn't be doing."
He looked slightly taken aback, but the near-death of his almost girlfriend must have given him a spine, because he glared straight back and said, "I'm aware that I'm new on this team, Jim, but I can't ignore the fact that had it not been for your-"
And that was it. I couldn't take it anymore. Not having this guy drilling in my head what I already knew, not now.
"You want to talk about hesitation, pretty boy?" I snapped, pushing away at my chair until it toppled over, straight up as he rose with me, inches away from his face. "Let's talk about your little popsicle imitation that almost had BOTH our asses on the floor."
"I never said I was perfect, Jim – but it was YOUR flash-bang grenade-"
I shoved him hard, so that he nearly toppled over the file cabinet, sending papers scattering to the floor. He pushed back, just as hard, and suddenly Deke was in front of me, batting off my arms, and trying to keep his body in front of me, blocking me from my target.
"Get the fuck out of my way," I hissed, twisting to get to the BoyScout.
"It's not worth it, man," he said, tone strained, hooking into my arms, holding me in place as Boxer said the same damned thing to Burress, pinned on the other side of the office.
The door burst open, and that was how Sanchez and Hondo found us, struggling and grunting, four SWAT men wrestling like we were in high school.
"SETTLE THE FUCK DOWN." It took only the booming command of Hondo to drop my hands, breathing hard and shoving away the strong grip of Deke. Hondo's glare was sharp, angry, like a bull ready to charge. I barely saw it.
Sanchez, stepping in behind him, wore a look that seemed a combination of annoyance and bewilderment, left arm bandaged with white gauze. Her eyes processed the scene, between Burress and myself, and in her eyes I read again that glance I had seen that only three days ago.
As if she were seeing a stranger.
"SIT DOWN," Hondo snapped, grabbing Burress by the shoulder like a toy and slamming him into his chair, ready to do the same to me if I didn't follow suit.
I did, glancing away from Sanchez with a 'fuck it all' attitude.
Hondo shoved into his seat, glancing at all five of us before he snapped, "Deke, Boxer, wait outside."
They did, turning and looking almost meek as they filed out the doorway. Sanchez looked ready to follow, until Hondo added, "Not you, Sanchez."
Again, the bewildered look crossed over her face, but obediently, she stayed, keeping her place by the door.
Hondo worked with silence, and for a full minute he sat at his desk, finger to his mouth, eyeing me and Burress. Sanchez was completely ignored.
I knew the game, and I kept my mouth shut, waiting until Hondo figured the intimidation and silence had worked into my nerves long enough.
"Anybody wanna tell me what the hell happened back there?" he said finally, loud and barking like a dog.
I didn't answer, Sanchez didn't answer. It was Burress who spoke up first.
"Sir, I-"
"Shut up, Burress," he interrupted, eyes on me. "I want to hear it from Street."
Both pairs of eyes swiveled in my direction, and I knew that Sanchez was watching too. I didn't care. I didn't care at all. My life was shit, and I had fucked it up, and at this point, I knew I could have been where Gamble was. Because this was bullshit.
A part of me wanted to accept the blame, another part of me wouldn't allow it, because I would never have fallen this far from the man I was.
"Fine," Hondo said, nodding once, rising from his desk. "Then I'll go ahead and tell you what happened. Someone fucked up. Someone fucked up really badly."
"It was me, sir." Again, it was the damned martyr Burress breaking the silence, eyes on the floor, fingers tangled together in his anxiety. "I saw Sanchez on the floor and I froze-"
"No." I didn't realize it was me speaking until Burress stopped talking, Hondo swiveling his hawk like glare onto me. Swallowing hard, I thought of Chris, of Gamble, of the accusations. I thought of everything I thought I was and everything I wasn't. And nothing seemed to matter anymore. "It was me," I said roughly. "I was distracted-"
"DAMN RIGHT, you were distracted," Hondo barked.
"Hondo-" Sanchez broke in, voice hard, free hand massaging her wounded arm, shaking her head. "You were there with me, you know that I went in because-"
It took me a second to realize, she was ready to place the blame on herself. She went in trusting that I did my job – that the flash grenades were in place and because of that she had the time to move in from the stack up and not get shot.
"It wasn't her fault, Hondo-" I said immediately.
"Shut up," Hondo snapped, stepping around the desk, eyes on Sanchez. "You had nothing to do with this, Sanchez. Stay out of it."
"Then why the hell am I in here?" she snapped back, losing patience, and with that, her slight deference for authority.
"Shut up, and I'll get to it," he said, dismissing her immediately, coming back to us. "Now, I don't care what happened, or how it happened – or who fucked up. What I do know is that this morning, I had two men who I thought I trusted, and now I have an officer shot, and two children who can't be in the same room together without trying to kill each other."
"We weren't trying-"
"SHUT UP, BURRESS." Hands came down on our chairs, Hondo's breath coming down in moist heavy tufts on our heads. "Now someone, is going to take the blame for this. And it sure as hell won't be me, and it won't be Sanchez – she's the one who saved your asses in that place. So who's it going to be?"
Anger and resentment, coupled with bitterness and a broken heart, is a dangerous combination in a military man.
"What?" I snorted. "You're going to kick me out? Do it then."
"Street." Sanchez's voice was urgent, annoyed. "Shut the fuck up."
"Yeah, Street," Hondo agreed. "Shut the fuck up." He slapped my head, pushing off the chair. "See, here's my problem. Burress is the rookie here, so by all rights, I could kick him out and still have the majority of my team-"
"Sir-"
"BUT, committing the major fuckup of the century, I also have Street, here. Who as the leader of this team, should not have made the stupidest of mistakes, and so sorely tested my trust and patience, that I can't really think of wanting him in my sight for the next three months-"
"Hondo-"
"SHUT UP." Hondo sighed, silent for a moment, before he looked up and said, "Sanchez, you're off the team."
The words took a minute to sink in, so out of left field that all three of us just sat there, dumbly, before my head swiveled back to a suddenly pale Sanchez, and all three of us were out of our seats.
"Hondo-"
"That's BULLSHIT!"
"Sir, I don't think that's necessa-"
"How many times do I have to say 'shut up' to you people before you guys SHUT THE HELL UP?!" he snarled, slamming his palm on the desk before he once again circled.
"Hondo, you can't kick her off the team," I snapped. "She has nothing to do with it!"
"I can do whatever I damned well please!" Slumping down in his seat, he glared between the two of us, and he answered, "Transferring her to another team might be the solution."
"The solution to what?!" Chris broke in, coming forward, features frozen in rage. "What the hell did I do?!"
"Nothing, Sanchez," Hondo said finally, looking up at her with what could almost be called regret. "Nothing but be yourself."
"Look, you wanna punish someone, punish me," I snapped, stepping in front of Chris. "This was my screw-up. I'll take the heat."
"If I kick you off the team, Fuller will never let you back on SWAT, Jim – and as much as I'd hate to admit it when you're acting like such a woman right now – I can't replace you. You're too good of an officer to lose completely."
"Then take me out," Burress said. "I can handle it – I was doing fine in traffic-"
"Boy, you're so full of gold medals, that if you get tarnished the captain will have my head," Hondo said, rolling his eyes with recrimination. "Now, we have a situation where it's obvious two of you can't get your heads out of your asses well enough to think straight, what the hell else am I supposed to do?"
"I'm still not sure how the hell this is MY FAULT," Sanchez snapped. "What does throwing ME off the team do to fix this?!"
Hondo's eyebrow arched lazily. "Sanchez, are you really that dense or you just really good at pretending?"
Her mouth fell open, uncomprehending, and feeling my heart quicken it's beat in panic, I found myself pushing off my chair, standing to claim his attention. "So we find a way to work together. We work together, and we keep Sanchez."
Hondo clucked his tongue, glancing between the two of us and then back to Sanchez, who stood directly between, completing the triangle.
Yeah, fucking imagery was never so obvious.
"You sure you can do that?" he clipped. "Listen to me, Street - you're the best man I got. Well, you WERE the best man I got, then you turned into a woman. Neither of you can afford to get petty over the fact that someone else has a partner that was yours. This isn't traffic, this is SWAT - we trust each other, and that includes trusting Burress."
"I can do that!" I snapped.
Chris' wondering stare burned into my face, flushing it red, and for that alone I couldn't look at her, palms on Hondo's desk, staring at him imploringly.
Hondo considered it, studying my face, my expression. "You would work with Burress."
"I would."
"Make him your partner."
"I would."
He considered, and glanced at Burress. "And you, David. Would you work with Jim?"
"I would do whatever was necessary to ensure this team's productivity, sir."
Fucking kiss ass.
"Great," I heard behind me, Sanchez' harsh rasp, "I now pronounce you man and wife."
Hondo glanced up to Chris. "Sanchez?"
"Don't even fucking look at me, Hondo," she snapped. "I have no idea what the hell is going on."
He almost smiled at that, before he stretched, as if he had just received a wonderful massage, and rose out of his chair. "Fine. Then Sanchez, you're still on the team."
My shoulders slumped, the breath gone out of me as I let my hands fall, glancing away from the table. "Fine."
"Though that still leaves the question of Sanchez' partner."
Shit. "Look, Hondo, we just said-"
"I just asked if you were willing," he snapped. "My first concern is this team, and I can't deny the fact that you and Chris work well together. But frankly, you've pissed me off so much today, I don't feel like being that charitable. And Burress here, is showing potential."
One glance at Sanchez revealed nothing. Her brow was furrowed, her mouth set in a firm, deep line.
This whole thing was taking me through such an emotion of whirlwinds that I had no energy for this anymore. I fell in my chair, face downcast, breath coming out of me with a heavy sigh.
"Sanchez?"
My poor girl was so confused she didn't even bother replying. It hadn't been the best day for Chris, I'm sure. Getting shot, then getting kicked off the team because she was a girl, then getting put back ON the team because she was a guy...
And even I couldn't explain what Hondo wanted from her.
Finally, he must have taken pity on all of us, because he chirped, "Fine, Sanchez decides."
"ME?!" she sputtered. "Why me?!"
Burress and I both turned, and taken with the stares of her partner and her would-be boyfriend, she only seemed more agitated, glaring back at Hondo, who shrugged.
"Street, Burress – out. I need to talk to Sanchez."
In that moment, brown eyes locked onto my own, mouth twisted in a confused frown spoke the truth.
She had no idea.
The fact that she was so dense suddenly just seemed to irritate me all the more, and I didn't bother acknowledging her unasked question, instead pushing past Burress, dismissing his whispered good-bye to her, and heading out the door, nearly knocking over Deke and Boxer, who were piled up on each other in hopes of hearing what had been going on.
It seems like I didn't stop running until I got to my apartment, throwing open my door and grabbing the big leash hanging on the wall.
I haven't run like I did that day in months. My heart pounding, legs searing with agony, stomach twisting with the scent of the salty sea, lungs gasping for air. I pounded in the surf, Rox bounding alongside of me, and I kept going, even as the waves splashed my legs, I began to shiver with cold.
It wasn't enough. By the time I got back to my apartment, I was still shivering, still trembling with emotion, and suddenly I strapped on gloves and began to pound on my bag, hard and fast, never noticing my knuckles were turning red until I collapsed against the wooden porch, beaded sweat running down my body.
I couldn't think of Chris. I wouldn't let myself think of her. Not what this decision meant, or why Hondo had chosen her to make it.
I was Jim Street, and I had never let myself get this far gone – not for anything. Nothing but the job.
With a hiss, I pulled the tape from my knuckles, studying the broken flesh, spattered blood on my hand as I flexed it, studying the cracks in the skin.
I didn't know I was waiting for the phone to ring until it did. The ring had never seemed more ominous, and even Rox, lifting his head from the floor, quirked an ear, staring at it as if Judgement Day itself had come.
With a hard push, I lifted myself from the floor, heading toward the ringing phone, closing a palm around it.
Another heavy sigh, and even though I couldn't say I was ready, it was the closest I would get to it.
I lifted the phone out of it's cradle, held it to my ear with a grunted hello.
"She chose you," came Hondo's clipped voice. "Get your ass in here tomorrow, and if you're not the model soldier, I'll have your ass."
With that, the line clicked, and I heard an unmistakable dial tone.
End chapter VI
Coming soon Part VII – In Which Chris Is a Girl