Street's hands are shaking like no other but he doesn't look down at them and keeps his focus on the empty seat in Black Betty normally occupied by Chris.
He refuses to believe they're too late.
"We all know what we're doing?" Hondo asks, voice steady, and is answered with a string of grumbled affirmations. "Good. We get in, get Chris, and get out. Whatever happens aside from that, I don't care."
Anger at Chris's captors leaks through his teeth, and Street knows that there will be a line to throttle them all once in the building, but he tries to set his own anger aside. The only thing all of them care about is finding Chris, ending this undercover mission that put her in that bar without backup. Street won't let his own emotions cloud his judgement and risk that.
"Two minutes out." Luca chimes, making one last left and coming to a halt outside a seedy bar. The windows are dim and door ajar and despite it only being 3 pm its whole aura is off-putting. 20-David takes a short moment to ground themselves, taking a deep breath before leaving Black Betty on quiet feet and surrounding the building, Deacon and Street in the back and the rest at the front door.
"We go in on three, and we go in silently. Remove the patrons, don't let anyone who might be somewhere else in the building know we're here." Deacon crackles over the comm, and on Luca's count of three they enter.
The sight of guns and black kevlar is enough to make everyone sitting in the smoky, dark room make themselves scarce. Behind the bar is uncharacteristically empty, but the second the door from the kitchen swings open and a sloppy young man walks through, there are three guns pointed at him.
"Hands up." Tan, Luca, and Hondo spit at the same time, and the bartender complies, an involuntary squeak escaping.
"I just work here!" He pleads, a tremor in his voice. "The boss pays me to look the other way, but I don't know nothing, I swear." Luca steps up, pats him down and rolls his eyes.
"He's unarmed, I'll get him out of here. This conversation isn't over." The blond cuffs him and walks him to a waiting car and tells them to get him to HQ. When he walks back in, Street and Deacon have joined everyone else in the bar.
"Kitchen and back office are empty, but it looks like the freezer is covering up another door, probably to the basement. We're going in." There's a beat and a nod and then they find themselves on either side of a freezer, pushing on three.
Carefully opening the door to keep it from squeaking, the handle is so loose it almost falls out. Street's breath is sharp as he goes down the cement stairs second behind Hondo, all of their weapons drawn.
They come to more doors and hallways when they reach the basement, a web of rooms with no leads, until the scrape of chairs draws their attention and they pull to the left. The closer they get to the door, the stronger the smell of beer and cigarettes becomes, almost so strong it could choke someone.
Tan ghosts his fingers over the knob and shakes his head, mouths a "no" to the others, which causes them to all back up, so Luca can wield the battering ram.
"We get one go at this," Hondo reminds them through the tension, "let's do it right." He nods at Luca, who steadies himself before swinging at the door so hard it comes off its hinges.
"LAPD SWAT!" Echoes through the small space as the team spills in, taking in the sight of men in greasy clothes and women in hardly any smoking and crowded around card tables. Uniforms begin to cuff them all but 20-David is stuck swiveling their heads around, looking for Chris or anywhere else she could be. A man observes them for a second before breaking out in a venomous laugh, gold watch and brass rings catching a sliver of sun that sneaks in.
"Your friend is not here anymore, she's somewhere more useful for a woman of her kind."
Tan holds Street back as a Deacon jerks the man's arm to get him out of the basement. The man winks as he passes the team, and their hands clench tighter around their guns, itching to squeeze the triggers. Once he's out of sight, they resume getting everyone else out of the basement, but none have anything useful to say. They watch as the people are loaded into the back of police cars, and listen to the yellow grass crunching under their feet. Tan starts to say she has to be close by when a crash from behind the bar has them sprinting around the building.
In front of them is a blue shed with its doors closed. More noises emerge from the small structure— grunts and the sound of a punch landing and a body knocking against metal— but it's the no!, unmistakably Chris, that makes Street wrench open the doors and expose the dingy, stale room to the daylight.
Two men try to sprint out of the shed, guns raised, but the team is quick to return fire, and their bodies fall in the doorway, red staining the grass and concrete.
Silence falls. The team holds their breath and prays for some kind of noise to tell them she's okay.
"Chris?" Deacon asks, his voice gentle. She doesn't answer but they hear soft whimper of and the sound of someone standing and breathing heavily as she tries to make her way forward. They swing their weapons around their backs and watch the opening of the shed like it's the ending of a movie they're hoping turns out well.
The person that steps through the door isn't immediately recognizable as Chris. She's covered in blood spatter from the shooting and squints back against the sunlight, harsh on her eyes after three days in the dark. Her knuckles are white as she grips the edge of the shed wall, stepping over the fallen men carefully, seeing their glazed-over eyes before finally looking up to see the team but not saying a thing.
"Chris!" Luca says, all his breath leaving him in a huff. He steps up to her and she wraps her arm around his waist on instinct, letting go off the wall and sagging her weight into him. Tan joins Luca on her other side to guide her to the front where an ambulance is waiting, no one saying a word but the team sharing an incredulous, concerned look over the space.
"Deac, Street, you go with them. I've gotta stay a few minutes to finish up with the Unis and then I'll come around." The two men nod, shock settling over them, and Street clears his throat as they both make their way around to see Chris sitting in the back of an ambulance, starting into space. An EMT takes her pulse, listens to her breathing, and asks her to follow the light among a few other things, and then approaches the officers standing in a small circle a few feet from her.
"Given the severity of the situation, Officer Alonso is relatively unscathed. Some bruises and artificial cuts but nothing regular bandages, pain medication, and rest won't fix; there's no need for her to go to a hospital. My partner and I are about to clear her so you can take her back to HQ." Relief trickles over them and they thank the paramedic, shaking her hand. She nods and walks away to finish up with Chris. The team stares at one another as Hondo approaches from the backyard.
"We'll take her back to HQ in Betty." Hondo cuts through their silence. "But only one of us should go get her, we don't want to overwhelm her." He gives Street a pointed look that the rest of them follow. Luca announces he's pulling Betty around, and the others busy themselves with scene notes and disarming their weapons while Street approaches Chris.
He starts to really see her when he breaks from the team. There's flashing lights and a silver shine from the ambulance that catches his attention for a second before fading into the background as he hones in on her. There's blood drying on her face and he can see bruises forming on her jawline but he still smiles in awe at the sight of her.
"Hey, Chris," he says softly and she looks up at him, no expression on her face. "The EMTs cleared you to leave. Luca's pulling around now and we can get you out of here, okay? C'mon." He offers a hand to her but she doesn't take it. Instead, her arms wrap around herself when she stands. She takes a second, eyes squeezing closed to regain her balance and steady her breathing, and she opens them again with a closed-mouth sigh. Street lets her walk ahead of him, and Tan is already at the truck door, but she refuses his help, too, stepping up with a small wince and settling into her seat. She buckles herself in and leans her head back against the wall, closing her eyes again. The rest of the team files in silently and shares a look, broken by Hondo pulling the door shut and telling Luca to take them back.
"Chris? We're here." She opens her eyes with a grumble at the feel of a hand on her shoulder. She blinks a few times before she realizes where they are and who's around, nodding at no one in particular as she unbuckles and steps down into the parking lot. Eyes linger on her as they walk inside, Street and Hondo on either side and the other three behind, but she tries to pay them no mind. Her arms swing by her sides but she grips her thumbs to stay grounded. They deposit her in the locker room and she sits on the bench, feels her shoulders relax for the first time in days.
"I'm going to go speak with Hicks." Hondo murmurs.
After a few minutes of deep breathing, she cracks her eyes open to find the rest of them staring at her. They each look like they want to say something, but have nowhere to start. She swallows, the weight of the day running through her, and speaks, her voice coming out as a whisper.
"I'm okay, I just need a few minutes. Alone. Please." They get the hint, and trip over their words to reassure her they're there and to let them know if she needs anything.
"We'll warm you up some food whenever you're ready, Chris, take your time." She nods at them and lets their small smiles soothe her as they file out. When she's finally alone again, the silence having settled through the room, she leans her head back against the lockers and focuses every thought on being a reminder to just breathe. She looks at the red on her hands and watches it crack when she opens and closes her fists, like a form of hypnosis, and then closes her eyes all together again, letting everything float away from her.
She ignores the sound of the locker door opening an indiscernible amount of time later, but she can't ignore someone's hand on her shoulder. Street is standing next to her when she looks up, and as soon as she does, he moves to sit on the bench.
"Hey. It's been half an hour, we were worried about you. I'm worried about you." He's looking at her like he's unsure that she's really in front of him, rubbing his thumb over her shoulder.
"I'm fine." She mumbles again, the second thing she's said to anyone since they found her, and only because she knows it would be more worrisome if she said nothing. He starts to ask her something else but she shakes her head even before he finishes, turns so she's facing away from him and puts her head in her hands. The dried blood all over her makes her shudder. She hears Street sigh and his footsteps leaving, and then she's caught off guard by the squeak of a door followed by a shower running. She peaks through her fingers, but doesn't move until she can feel Street in front of her again. As her hands fall from her face back to her lap, she looks at them like they're not her own; they don't feel like her own. Nothing about her body feels like her own right now, she realizes, but Street is repeating her name like a prayer before she can dwell on it.
"Chris?" He says again, holding a hand out to her when she looks up. Her eyes flick to the door.
"It's locked."
She looks between his face and his hand as she tries to work out his motive but then he says her name one more time and her hand moves of its own volition to meet his. He pulls her up gently and squeezes her hand, walking them silently to the showers.
He waits for her nod, and then Street kneels to take off his boots, and while he's there he unties Chris's sneakers and then rolls off her socks, the ankles stained red. They step into the in-between of the locker room and the shower. He pulls his shirt over his head and slips on one set of shower shoes, Chris doing the same. Her eyes stay locked on his chest, almost as if she's looking through him, and when her hands reach for the hem of her shirt they start to shake. She blows out a breath and tries again, only for the shaking to intensify.
"It's okay." His soft voice breaks her out of her reverie, causes her eyes to find his and he nods at her, gesturing with his head to the shower. She gives him an uncertain look and he reassures her they're alone.
"Let's get you cleaned up." He whispers, pulling back the shower curtain.
The water soaks her clothes and runs red over her face and neck and swirls down the drain, its warmth making her muscles relax. Street has a washcloth and he gently wipes at her face, small, gentle circles, until all the blood flakes away to reveal the deep purple on her jawline and a scabbed over cut on her cheek. He holds her chin with his other hand, turning her face from side-to-side to see if there's any more damage, and then asks if it hurts, getting a shrug in response.
He moves to her neck, squeezing more soap onto the cloth, and can see how there's more red on her chest under her shirt. His hand reaches for the bottom, gauging her reaction carefully, and pulls back when she jerks away. He apologizes softly and lets his eyes trace over her again, stopping at her wringing hands.
Her hands are circling over and over again, fingers pressing into her palms like the blood has seeped through her skin and can't ever be washed out. He can tell it's unconscious, her gaze focused on the grout lines of the shower tile, but he sees how tense her hands are and knows it'll only be a moment until it slips and breaks all together.
Switching gears, Street moves to clean her arms instead, starting at her mid-bicep where the sleeves of her shirt hit. More bruises snake around her skin and he stops washing one arm when he hits her wrist bone, repeating the actions on the other side. With everywhere else clean, he lays the washcloth over her hands and holds them underneath with his other hand, stopping her motion completely. He steps closer to her and turns her so her back is to his chest and she's facing the stream of water. The washcloth comes away and she watches the drops hit her hands, but doesn't feel anything until the rough fabric runs over her skin again. His hands are steady around hers and she takes a deep breath, feels it catch in her chest and takes another, Street's soft shushes in her ear.
He keeps working at her hands until they're as clean as they can be, no more red or brown under any of her nails or in the crevices of her knuckles. He drops the washcloth onto a ledge with a wet thud and takes her hands in his, squeezing them and rubbing his thumbs over hers. They stand like that for a minute, surrounded by the steam, until she flips one of her hands so she can hold on to his forearms. She grips at his muscles and pulls him closer around her. At first, her tears won't fall. They stick in her throat and leave her in soft sniffles as she coughs to expel them. Street is quiet behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder that he nuzzles his forehead into when she coughs harshly, trying to calm her.
She gasps sharply, catching them both off guard. Her shoulders start to shake, tears lining her eyes, and when he sets a kiss on her shoulder, she lets her own head fall to try to hide the crying. Her grip on his arm tightens, fingers tense and nails digging into his skin like if she holds him tight enough, she won't fall apart. She turns to face him again, burying herself in his chest with her hands flat against the front of his shoulders. He holds her close, one hand on the back of her head, and tells her she's going to be okay.
She sobs against him, loud enough that he can hear it through the shower. Tears come to his eyes as well as he rocks them under the stream, and he squeezes his eyes shut for them to fall quietly. His hand tangles in her hair and the other runs up and down over her back, the fabric bunching up. She doesn't try to stop the tears or look up at him, just lets everything wash over her. He whispers himself hoarse that she's safe and he isn't going anywhere. She tries to hold him even closer and he soothes her as best he can.
The water rains down on them as her tears slowly come to an end, soft sniffles left in their wake. She's exhausted down to her bones, but she can't bring herself to look at him yet, and she ducks her head to stare at their feet.
Her arms cross and her hands find the bottom of her shirt, feeling the wet fabric against her skin for the first time. Before she can pull it off, his hands cover hers on either side. She looks to her right and then her left and then nods as the both of them raise the shirt over her, her arms straightening as he finishes getting it off. He throws it just past the shower curtain, while her hands come to her jeans, fighting until the wet denim is off and with her shirt. Street does the same with his own pants, setting them next to the other clothes and picking up the washcloth.
"I can—" Chris starts, and Street kisses her softly to stop her, his thumb grazing over her cheek.
"I know you can, but you don't have to." He gives her a sad smile and starts to wash her chest. The soap lathers and sits on her collarbone, runs down underneath her bra. He sweeps the cloth over the line of elastic, not lifting it but cleaning away the dirt that gathered there, and then moves down her stomach and legs, whispering an apology when she winces. He takes extra time going over her back, massaging her neck and shoulders once she's clean. The knots release under his touch and he smiles at her quiet moans and how her forehead drops to his shoulder when he goes back to her front. One hand on her neck keeps her anchored while he gets shampoo in the other.
She sighs contentedly at his hands working the product into her hair. She can tell he's also feeling for more bruising, which makes her smile against him. A moan escapes, her shoulders falling away from her ears as she relaxes under his touch. After he rinses the shampoo, he repeats the process with conditioner, holding her while it sets and then washing it out with all the care in the world. He pulls back when he's done to look at her. She's exhausted and sore, but when she meets his eyes, every thought or idea he's ever had fades away and he can't help but place a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes close and she leans into it.
When they separate, he turns the faucet off and grabs two towels from the hook, handing one to her. Once he's dry enough, he murmurs that he'll get her clothes and she nods, wraps the towel around herself as a shiver runs through her. His arm holds her bag through the curtain and she takes it silently, rifling through it to pull out another pair of clothes, thankfully leggings. She takes off her bra and underwear and throws it on the pile before tugging the clean clothes on, settling into them. The ground is wet so she goes back to the bench before she puts clean socks and her work boots on, the only other shoes she has, since she's throwing everything she was wearing before away. A stall swinging open brings her attention back up to Street, now clothed in sweats and an old Long Beach t-shirt.
"Hey. How're you feeling?"
"Tired. Better. I left the clothes in there."
"I'll grab them, don't worry about it. Are you hungry?" She is, but it's become background noise to everything else ebbing and flowing through her. She shakes her head no.
"You can throw them away." She says, and he nods in understanding. He wants to say more, but looking at her, watching her pick at her cuticles as the last of the adrenaline wears off and reality sets in, fills him with an all-consuming need to just take care of her. She swivels around so she can put her feet on the ground and stand. Street fixes her with a look.
"Wendy." Is all she says, lips in a line, and he nods back at her.
"I'll be here when you're done."
She wants to sleep for a month after she's done talking to Wendy. And, while she does feel better, the idea of talking to the team about it still feels like a weight in her stomach. She makes a mental note to talk about that particular trait of hers at her next session. Getting back to the locker room, she refuses to acknowledge those thoughts anymore and swings the door open to find Street right where she left him, scrolling on his phone. He smiles at her like she gives him the world every time he sees her, drawing a smile from her, too. She locks the door behind her and settles herself on his lap, buries a hand in the hair at his neck.
"You holding up okay?" He murmurs into her and she nods as she breathes his scent in. They sit in silence for another fifteen minutes, taking solace in being together in a safe place. She yawns and he hears her stomach grumble and chuckles softly against her, pulls back to look at her face.
"I think Hondo—" She gives him a look, pleading, and he stops.
"I can make something at home. Want to say goodnight before we head out?"
The answer is no. She doesn't want to see anyone or say anything at all, but she knows she should, that they deserve that
"Yeah."
She stands and follows him to the kitchen. He takes another look at her before he opens the door and puts a subtle hand up to tell the team to give her space when they all stand at once. Their faces are full of relief to see her free and clear of the events of the past few days, but Street talks before any of them start.
"We're going to head home for the night. Just wanted to let you guys know." They look between Chris and Street, filling in the gaps and saying okay.
"Night, guys. Thank you." Chris says, a slight crack in her voice. All she wants is to turn and run to his car as fast she can but she refrains, lets them take comfort in saying their encouragements and giving her quick hugs. It's nothing anyone did, but the entire environment feels like it's grating on her skin, and she knows she needs to get out. The second Tan lets go of her, she nods and spins on her heel, walking out of the kitchen to a thankfully empty hallway so she can lean against the wall and let out a breath. Her pulse is racing, and she can't slow it down. She can hear Street say something and the team agree through the wall but she doesn't care enough to piece it out, and then he's next to her and she's pushing herself up and walking to the parking lot without another world.
The second she's in her apartment she walks to her bedroom to change into pajamas, and then gets in bed without another thought, leaving the bedside lamp on. She can hear him moving about the kitchen, opening cabinets and the pantry and pulling food out, but it only serves to give her a headache that she closes her eyes to mitigate. After a few minutes, the sink runs for a moment and then he pads down the hallway.
He sits on the edge of the bed and waits for her to sit up enough before handing her the water. She sets the empty glass on the nightstand and lies back down, his fingers brushing the hair out of her eyes and then cupping her cheek. It's clear she won't be the one starting this conversation, so he does.
"Do you want dinner? There's soup or I can make breakfast. Eggs and toast?"
She shakes her head again, setting a hand on top of his and intertwining their fingers.
"Lay with me?"
He says of course and waits for her affirmation before flicking the light off and going around the other side of the bed. He pulls the extra blanket at the foot of the bed over them, running a hand down her arm. One arm comes over her waist and the other slides under her neck. Burying his face in her hair, she smells like lilac and the shampoo at HQ. Her hand is over his and she squeezes it sporadically like a reminder that he's there. Every time she does, he murmurs that he isn't going anywhere.
"Chris?" He says into the darkness later, the tension in her body a clear indicator that she's still awake, and he takes her squirm as confirmation that she heard.
"I'm here whenever you want to talk, okay? For whatever you need."
"Okay." She whispers back, smiling when his arm tightens around her.
A/N: hello! i hope you enjoyed. let me know if there's any interest in a continuation/sequel, as i'm def not opposed and have some ideas! title is from hozier. reviews/faves/prompts are always appreciated! come hang out on tumblr streakyglasses. xo