Street sighs and glances at the sun just starting to set through the window. The house it too quiet, not even Duke panting in Luca's room to break up the still air, but the light streams over everything and washes it in a golden hue.
It's beautiful, he thinks, and he wishes he could appreciate it. His whole body feels restless, mind buzzing too much to focus on any one thing, and he doesn't even know what he would do to make himself feel better if he could. His mom is a mess, like everyone told him she would be, and his life feels like a mess, too much to go be around everyone at the fundraiser. No fake plastered smile is hiding the cracks running through him right now.
A knock at the door startles him out of his thoughts. It's quick, and he wonders who it is if they're knocking. In an effort to build ties with the community, Luca insists on leaving the door unlocked when someone is home and it's light out. Timo takes advantage often, coming in to play on their police arcade machine, but other than that, most people still steer clear of the duo.
Duke isn't concerned, which Street takes to be a good sign. He can see the lab's head where it's lifted off Luca's bed, tilted like he's waiting for Street to open the door, so he knows if he needs to actually trod into the living room.
They knock again, this time less certain, and it spurs Street into movement.
"Coming," he shouts, setting the bread bag back onto the counter. He pulls the door open without regard, and is shocked when he sees Chris standing behind the glass.
"Hey," he says, opening the door. He stops in his tracks when she looks up from her shoes to him. Mascara and eyeliner sit underneath her eyes, her tears causing them to run. She's got one fist clenched in the other, and her teeth are biting down so hard on her bottom lip, he's afraid she's going to make herself bleed. Looking her up and down, he knows she had to have come from the fundraiser, but he can't imagine what could've happened to cause this. He pulls the door open the rest of the way so she can step in around him, unsure of what to say.
"Sorry for barging in like this," she says, standing in the living room like she's never been there before and doesn't know where she can sit. He's never seen her so uncertain before, or so upset, even in the midst of when he was dragging her involuntarily into his bullshit. She starts to wring her hands.
"Don't be. You didn't, you knocked," he says, trying to lighten the tone, though it falls flat. "You're always welcome. What happened?"
It's the question she knew was coming, but hearing it from his lips still knocks the breath out of her lungs. No words will come out, so she shakes her head and averts her eyes to the ceiling while panic starts to wrap around her chest.
"Do you have any beer?"
He doesn't question her, just nods and walks around the island to the kitchen. The opening of cabinets and fridge doors and the running of the sink fade into the background as the overwhelming jumble of noise in her mind grows.
"Water first," he says. She rolls her eyes but downs the glass in one go. It's cold, and between that and the cool bottle in her hands, it takes a little bit of the edge off. She takes a sip, and then another, and then the bottle is suspiciously light in her hands and she asks for another.
He nods, wordlessly going back to the kitchen and popping off another top. He can't tell if she wants to talk or just exist, so he doesn't open the conversation when he hands it to. Vaguely, he remembers that she was excited for everyone to finally meet Ty and Kira, and wonders where they are. There's no way they would have left her in this condition. He doesn't think they would, at least, from everything she's said about them. Unless she's here because of them, but he tamps down that thought before his brain can run with it.
"Can we sit?" Her voice cuts through his thoughts, and he nods, says of course. She kicks her shoes off next to the couch and then tucks her knees up and wraps her arms around them. He sits in the chair opposite, wanting to give her space, just in case. He notices how tense her shoulders are, and how tired she looks, exhaustion that can't be from just one day.
"Chris?" He asks, softer, prompting.
She takes another swig of beer and sets the bottle down. A chill runs through her.
"It was Annie." She says, barely a whisper, like it's a secret she doesn't want anyone else to hear. He gives her a questioning look. A sigh drags its way up her throat and out of her, and her voice uneven when she speaks.
"At the fundraiser. I brought Ty and Kira," something in her tone shifts, just for a second, and she gives him a small smile when she looks up despite herself. "I wanted you to get to meet them both."
His lips quirk up into a dimpled smirk and he nods.
"I will soon, promise."
She nods, and then it's like she remembers where she is and what happened, and he can almost see the walls being rebuilt around her chest.
"I introduced them, and it was fine. But then Lila asked me a question about them, and I answered."
His heart drops when her voice starts to waver with more tears. Afraid to break the moment, he doesn't move closer, but he can see the way her fingers are gripping at her jeans, searching for something to hold herself together.
"I don't even remember what it was exactly," she rolls her eyes like she's in disbelief, but he knows it's only an attempt to hide the hurt, "just something about loving people. I told her you could love a boy and a girl, and then there Annie was."
Street leans in, elbows on his knees as he tries to put these puzzle pieces together before she has to say something that will only cause her more pain.
"She sent Lila off and just scolded me, basically, for subjecting her daughter to a lifestyle she doesn't agree with."
Anxiety starts to bubble in her chest again as the specifics of the conversation get closer to the surface. It's like ripping off a band-aid, she thinks, except the band-aid isn't doing much to cover the gushing wound. She looks anywhere but at Street and blinks away tears as more roll down her cheeks.
"She said if she knew—"
She's stopped by a harsh gasp blocking her throat. She coughs and tries to clear it with another drink, and then takes a deep breath.
"She said if she knew what kind of relationship I was in, she might not have made me Victoria's godmother."
There it is, like a bomb in a field of flowers, or the flower itself being a bomb in disguise, unknown until it already destroyed everything.
Street is stunned into silence, not able to say anything or get his body to move to comfort her.
The more she breathes around her sobs, the harder it gets, and her nails can only dig so far into her palms before they don't keep her body in check.
Her ragged breathing is what pulls Street from his stupor, and he moves to her with the intensity of someone crossing the oceans.
"I'm so sorry, Chris," he breathes out as he wraps his arms around her and tries to make sense of one of the kindest people he knows saying such a thing to the best person he knows. Above all else, there's nothing Chris takes more seriously than family, and how she considers the Kay's part of hers. He doesn't need her to tell him how much Annie's words tore her apart.
She shakes her head against his shoulder, talking through the tears and hiccups.
"Deacon said he'd talk to her, but, fuck, what is he going to say? How's that going to help? I don't even know if he doesn't agree with her."
The pain in her voice slices through him like a knife, and he rubs his hands up and down her back as he pulls her away from that line of thinking.
"No, shh, Chris. Deacon loves you, and you're not someone he wants to see hurt. Annie, there's nothing I can say about what she said, but you're the best godmother Victoria could ever have, and those kids are so lucky to have you in their lives. You hear me?"
She nods, his words like a soothing balm, but it's not enough to get rid of the dirty feeling that covers her.
"I know that they have their faith, and I try to be respectful, but I can't lie." She looks up at him, her eyes pleading for him to understand.
"I spent so long hiding, not telling people who I was, not telling my family. I won't do it anymore. But I can't lose them, either."
"You shouldn't have to," Street assures her softly, brushing a hand over her forehead to clear the hair that's fallen into her eyes, "and you're not going to lose them, I promise."
"Two weeks ago, Deac drove himself into the line of fire to protect Love All. I don't understand what's changed since then." Her voice breaks, and her tears are hot on his shoulder. The combination of her tone and how confused she sounds is like a weight in his stomach.
"Nothing, Chris, I promise." He buries a hand in her hair in an effort to help her calm down. "There's no excuse for what she said. She loves you, but she's wrong, and that's on her."
His words only make her cry harder, and he understands it as he says it, how she can't have any more faith in Annie's love for her than she can in anything else. That nothing he can say or do will restore that, nor anything Ty and Kira do, or her family, or even Deacon. She's always worn her sexuality on her sleeve like a badge of honor, and he knows that's because the alternative, like she said, isn't something she can do anymore, he just wishes he could shoulder some of this burden for her, too.
"It'll be okay," he promises, praying that it will be. Her tears start to slow, and when she looks up at him, she knows she must look like a mess.
"I'm sorry," she gets out, unfolding herself from his arms to finish the beer that's been sweating onto his end table. He leaves a hand on her back, unable to turn away from her completely after what just happened, and tells her not to be.
"What did Ty and Kira say?" He broaches. She swallows the last of the drink, sighing around the lump in her throat and the boulder in her stomach.
"I left them at the fundraiser," she says, shame in her tone.
And then, much quieter,
"They did a lot for it, and I wasn't going to ruin that."
She sounds so sure of her own being a burden. He remembers all the times he felt the same way. He doesn't say anything about her decision to come see him and leave her partners without so much as a goodbye.
"You never ruin anything," he says instead.
She scoffs, roughly brushing the back of her hand across her face, only smudging the makeup further.
"I ruined Lila's innocence, according to Annie."
His jaw tightens, and he wants to say something, but her brain is already moving too fast for him to stop her.
"God, Deacon helped push me into the relationship with Kira in the first place!"
He tries to run his hands down her arms in an attempt to soothe her, but the anger that flows through her is electrified, and she's on her feet and pacing not a second later.
"I was fine on my own! He sat across from me in Black Betty and swooned over Annie and told me to go for it. And then the fucking second it isn't what he expected, that it's slightly 'nontraditional,' which is bullshit anyway, he says he's worried about me, and looking at me like he's confused, or like I'm confused."
She swallows, eyes piercing through him.
"I still haven't told my family about them. Helena can barely handle me going on a date with a woman. I can't even imagine what they're going to say."
His heart aches for her and for the strain in her voice. For as much as she used him as a sounding board for Ty and Kira, she never said anything about her family not knowing yet. He assumed when she told the team, she told them.
"I'm sorry, Chris," he says, but she's quick to say it's not his fault, and then she huffs a laugh.
"You were, are, the only person I talk to about them. Say what you will about everyone else, I know they care about me, but they have their reservations, you know? You're the only person who said to go for it, for both of them, without judgement or some stupid predetermined notion of what a relationship is supposed to look like."
And that, well, that's a whole lot more than nothing. He knows now isn't the time, but he tucks it away for later.
He expects her to keep pacing, but, like a balloon, all the energy deflates from her in a quick pop, and she sinks into the chair he was sitting in so she can face him.
"The worst part is, I'm not sure that they're wrong, Deacon and Annie. Not about my sexuality, but Ty and Kira. Because I do like them a lot. I don't remember feeling about anyone in the past, but, there's just this wall sometimes. Things I feel like I can't tell them, or experiences they just won't get because of the lives we've lived. And I don't know how this can be successful if I can't get over that."
The idea that something is wrong with her runs underneath her words like a rip current, and when her face searches his, he can tell in her eyes that all she's looking for is some hope for the contrary.
"There's nothing wrong with you, Chris," he says, leaning forward onto his knees, watching the subtle way her shoulders drop and she looks down at her hands in relief.
"Relationships are hard. It's scary to connect with new people. And you're right. There are some things they won't get because of what you see on the job every day, or have seen in your life. But if you keep going, keep trusting them that little bit more, eventually, it'll get easier to share those things. You can't expect yourself to give away your whole heart at once, that would make anyone want to run."
It's more profound than he means it to be, so he lets it settle into the surrounding silence. She's still looking at her hands, but when her gaze rises, there are more tears lining her eyes.
"Thank you, Street," she says softly, the ghost of a watery smile crossing her face. He smiles back, murmurs a quick, "of course."
"Really, Chris, I'm so sorry for what Annie said to you. I hope when Deacon speaks with her, she hears him."
Chris shrugs, taking a long exhale.
"I guess we'll see."
He nods, stands and crosses the small space to her. His arms are outstretched and she stands to step into them, squeezing him as tight as he does her.
When they pull back, he leaves his hands resting lightly on the small of her back. She's smiling up at him, still sad and still tired, but in a much better place than she was when she knocked. He can't help that his eyes flick down to her lips and linger there for a moment.
She looks over Street's face, her own grip steady on his shoulders. There's a wanting in his eyes, glued where they are to her lips, that makes her stomach bottom out.
Suddenly, she feels her body, her face, moving closer to his. His hands flex on her back, holding her firmly, moving beyond comforting to something new. In her periphery, she sees the muscles in his arms grow, too, and her heartbeat speeds up. She looks like a mess, she has to, but he's not deterred. His breath is hot on her skin, eyes dragging upwards from her lips to meet her gaze. It's like a dam about to come down, and she knows she's going to drown in the tidal wave.
His grip tightens. She's the most beautiful person he's ever seen, and he's not strong enough to pretend like this dance that they do around one another doesn't make him feel more alive than anything else ever has, how no fast cars or faster bikes even come close to matching the rush that he gets when he's in her space.
He pulls his eyes back to hers, needing confirmation before they move one step further. His face tilts down.
She swears she can see, just for a second, barely a breath, their lips meeting, and the world fading, and nothing else mattering.
But reality takes hold of her before her lips find is, and she jerks her body backwards. His hands break from around her, coming to rest at his side as hers come up like a barrier between them.
"I need to go." She says quickly, panicked. She gathers her phone and keys from the table and sits back down to slide her shoes on without a word. Practically running, she gets to the door and only stops when her hand closes around the smooth handle.
Her knuckles turn white as she takes a deep breath and risks a glance back at him through her bangs.
"Thank you for being here, Street," she says, voice low and tone unsure.
"Of course," he replies with a nod, the only thing he can think to say while he watches her walk out his front door.
He hears her truck roar to life, but doesn't watch it go. For all the life that he was standing in a second ago, now it feels like his whole being is covered in dust, lost somewhere with no idea how to get unstuck.
Duke's paws on the wooden floor bring him back enough to go through the motions, returning to the kitchen and picking up the bread. He sighs, stops, doesn't know who he thinks he's kidding, and lets himself get lost looking out the window.
He squeezes the edge of the counter until his arms shake.
The golden of the sunset is still beautiful. He swears he sees her in it.
-x-
hello! i hope you enjoyed! i'm not sure where this came from, and i love 2x20 as an episode, but i always wished there was more follow-up to what annie said to chris (aside from post 3x8), that it didn't end with "but she's a saint." also, that kiss. i couldn't not include something similar enough emotionally, because it's one of the most heart-wrenching moments from the season between them, in my opinion. although i am delusional and kind of want to write a second chapter of this where chris doesn't leave, so if anyone would be interested in that, let me know (it would be a purely self-indulgent, three seasons too soon fix it fic, at least a little bit). also, i've been feeling so energized by this fandom and show lately, so i just wanted to say thank you again for everyone who reads and comments, here, on ao3, and on tumblr (come say hi streakyglasses!). writing has provided me a lot of solace as of late, so i feel very lucky and happy to be so inspired to continue writing so much. as always, comments and kudos very much appreciated, and prompts open! since this is an au/divergent, i didn't add it to "if you never bleed," not sure if i'll cover 2x20 in that (but everyone should read family affairs bc it does/will and it is fantastic!) that's more than enough from me, thank you again. stay liquid! xoxo