post 3x12.

Mentions of Nate's death, grieving, friendship/love.

-x-

"Goodnight." Street says, pushing his backpack onto his shoulder and walking out without so much as a second glance. The air in the locker room is heavy, so unlike the casual familiarity that permeated the space a few months ago, and the rest of the team looks at one another.

Chris sighs, her eyes falling to the frosted locker room door. All she wants to do is follow him out, but Street has made it clear that he has no interest in talking about what's happened, especially since she said she wasn't sure things could go back to normal.

Chris can't blame him, she wouldn't want to talk either. Still, his bike is never in his driveway when she expands her route to check before going back to her old colleague's place, which leaves a weight of anxiety in her stomach.

"I'll talk to him." Chris hears herself saying. The rest of the team mumbles agreements and appreciations. Her truck keys are cold in her hand, and when Chris gets to her truck, she rests her head against the leather seat and exhales.

What are you thinking? She asks herself. A plan hadn't even crossed her mind before she was volunteering to go after him. He's only been back for five days. It's a more than a reasonable amount of time for everyone and everything to feel unsteady after the massive secrecy and fallout of his undercover op.

Opening her eyes, Chris starts the ignition and pulls out her phone, hearing the dial through her truck's Bluetooth.

"Chrissy! To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Aunt Helena sounds happy, but Chris hears the edge in her tone, and she can't blame her Aunt for that, either. Wincing, Chris talks as the gate goes up and lets her onto the LA streets.

"Hey, Aunt Helena. I'm sorry for not calling in so long. Do you mind if I come over for dinner? After, I was hoping to make polvorosas?"

The turn signal clicks loud and annoying through the cab as she waits for her Aunt's response.

"What's wrong?"

Knuckles white around the steering wheel, Chris rolls her eyes at the phone. She starts to say nothing, but barely gets the word out before Helena is speaking.

"You only bake when something's wrong, querida, tell me."

Running through her options, Chris settles on a lie.

"Victoria's sick. Annie said she'll be fine, but I'm worried. Figured I'd bring Deacon some cookies tomorrow."

Her words land in the air, and Chris knows by the small, concerned hum she hears that Helena bought it.

"Of course, I have everything to make them. Your niece asks for them every Sunday."

"Which I'd know if I called more, I know. I'm sorry!" Chris is earnest in her apology. "I'll be there soon, I love you."

Dinner is easy, delicious, and makes Chris regret waiting so long to see them. She avoids their questions about Ty and Kira, unsure of how to break the news to her family when she knows it will lead to comments, and looks at the clock often.

"You hardly see us, you use our oven, and you're still looking at the clock like you can't wait to get out of here." Sarzo teases her. Chris smiles tightly, glad when Tomas jumps in so she doesn't have to.

"I'm pretty sure she gets up at like four for work. That's why she always looks so tired when we see her."

Chris shoves her cousin, harder than it seems she does, and she laughs when he rubs his shoulder.

"I think you look pretty, Aunt Chrissy." Maribel says, making Chris bream. She runs a hand down her niece's long, braided hair, and kisses her head.

"You're pretty, beautiful Chiquita. Do you want to help me bake povorosas?"

Maribel nods, practically jumping out of her seat. Chris raises her eyebrows at Helena, who waves her off towards the kitchen with a look like she knows she'll have to come behind the pair and clean up their mess, but it's worth it for Chris and Maribel's smiles.

"C'mon, help me clear the table first."

Passing Tomas, Chris musses his hair and gathers the dishes as her niece stacks plates and silverware. She packs herself a container to go, the convenience store meals she's been living off of at her old partner's not cutting it in the wake of a homemade meal.

Then Street crosses her mind, too. Wherever he finds himself each night, he's alone. She packs a second to-go, promising she'll bring the glassware back.

Chris wipes off the kitchen counter and flips through an old recipe book until she finds a yellowed index card with her Great Aunt's neat cursive script across it.

"Okay," she says to Maribel, "we need one stick of butter to start."

With a batch of cookies packed safely into a container and another on a plate for her family, missing the few her and Maribel already ate, Chris gives a round of hugs to her family.

"I'll let you know how Victoria is tomorrow. And I promise I'll be over for dinner next Tuesday when I'm off."

Chris throws another goodnight over her shoulder, walking to her truck as her family waves from the doorway. Her watch tells her it's almost 9, and she calculates how long it will take her to get to Street's house and then to where she knows he really is.

It's shorter than she estimates with her foot like lead on the pedal. As expected, the house is as dark and quiet as it's been for weeks, with Luca in San Francisco for his hip and Duke with his brother. Her radio buzzes low with alternative music and ads as Los Angeles gives way to Long Beach. When her truck hits the gravel of a dimly-lit, run-down driveway, her stomach tightens, remembering the last time she was here.

Chris sees Street's bike before she sees him. Yellow light spills through ripped blinds onto the creaking wooden porch, and his figure just comes into a shadowy focus. She turns her headlights off so she doesn't blind him, parking next to his bike and then feeling the crunch of gravel under her sneakers. With the containers in one hand and her phone and keys in the other, Chris counts her heartbeat, and walks towards Street.

Street knows who it is as soon as he sees headlights cut through the surrounding trees. The surprise that bubbles up in him fizzles just as quick, too upset and confused by everything that's happened to give her much thought. His periphery follows her truck as it comes to a stop, and he hears the clinking of glass the closer she gets to him.

Without a word, Chris sits down next to him on the dusty stairs. She sets her phone and keys behind her, and leaves just enough room between them to put down the food. Street's gaze moves from his clasped hands to the dark horizon, and Chris lets hers linger on his profile until some of the weight disappears.

"How'd you find me?" Street asks. His voice is strong, but the confidence is betrayed by the tense set of his jaw and the hunch in his shoulders. It's so opposite to his usual demeanor, his demeanor before, all puffed chests and cocky smiles, and Chris shrugs. Her eyes fall from him to land on the same distance he's focused on.

"I know you. Figured you were here or at your old house. I asked Tony to swing by, and when he said you weren't there, this was it."

Her answer only serves to confuse him more. Chris is steady beside him, and he's grateful for that, so grateful, but he still has no idea what the two of them are.

"Why'd you come?" There's a bite to his tone, wanting to ask about their going back to normal, but he reminds himself that Nolan is the only person at fault here.

Sighing, she wants to lean into his shoulder, to show him she's all-in as much as she can tell him, but she doesn't because everything is too heightened right now. To quell her energy, she wrings her hands where they rest on her knees.

"I know what I said in the kitchen. I'm still hurt, angry."

Street opens his mouth to retort, but Chris continues so he understands.

"Not by you, or with you, just at the world, I guess. It's hard. But you've lost Nate, and I know your mom… You're not losing me, too. This situation, my feelings, I'll get through them, but you're back. That's what matters to me."

Her words are sure, and she feels Street's eyes on her, so she meets them.

Fire burns wide and deep in both of their cores. Smoke and whiskey come to mind, and in each other's eyes they read the same book of love and want and denial. A laugh forces itself out of Street, his jaw sharp as a knife as he looks away and shakes his head small.

"What are we, Chris?"

She wants to have a better answer for him. But Molly and even Ty and Kira linger in the back of her mind, and fears about her job that she can't break through.

"I don't know, exactly, but friends. You're my best friend, Street. And I think right now, you need a best friend."

He nods, accepting her answer as it falls on him like a weighted blanket that soothes his fears about the new world he's been thrust into. His mom is one thing, Karen always a mess that Street's not sure he ever truly believed, as much as he hoped, that things would work out.

Nate, though, was family. Truer and stronger than any blood or water. Nate was the one person, aside from the woman sitting next to him now, that Street would trust his life with long before anyone else.

Street wasted so much time not being there, so scared to let any of his past influence his present. Nate's the one influence he could've used. Nate would've loved meeting his SWAT family, would've done nothing but supported Street's every choice, and should've gotten to do so much more than he was given.

Everyone keeps telling Street it isn't his fault. Deep down, he thinks he knows that. Nate was an adult, and he was going to do what he was going to do no matter what safeguards Street put in place, but he can't help but wonder if those years spent apart distorted how much they knew each other just enough to let his warnings slip through the cracks. That if he'd called Nate more and driven out to see him, Nate would've understood how dangerous this was and stayed back.

"I miss him so much."

Street's voice cracks, his forehead falling to rest in his hands. Heart clenching, Chris reaches across the void between them to rest a hand on his shoulder.

"Tell me about him?"

Street looks up at her, doubt in his eyes, but Chris doesn't blink, voice soft.

"I didn't get to know him. I'm sorry for that. I'd like to now, if you want."

Nodding, Street inhales and wipes away the few tears that have fallen. With a heavy exhale, he looks back out into the night and then at Chris.

"He was the reason I got through foster care. Older kids kept beating my ass, taking my shit. Nate was the one who defended me long enough to learn how to defend myself."

Chris hums as Street talks, trying to soak in as much as she can about his life before and the people who helped make him who he is. The most important person in her life, if she really admits it to herself.

"We were together through our teens. Any time I got in trouble, which is one of the few things that hasn't changed between then and now, he was there. That extra key I carry?"

Chris nods, dropping his hand as Street grabs his keys from his pockets for her to hold.

"It was his bike. Took it for a spin to impress a girl and I totaled it. Nate was fuming, he wanted to kill me and I couldn't blame him, but when he came to pick me up from the hospital, before he yelled, he hugged me. Made sure I had Tylenol and didn't die in my sleep from the concussion. He was already 18, not living here but had a small place and I slept on his couch most nights."

A small smile comes to Chris as she pictures Street, 16, asleep on a couch. Questions start to tug at her gut, and she can't help the one that slips out.

"Why'd you lose touch?"

Street sighs, breaks his eye contact from hers like he's ashamed, and she puts down the keys to set one of her hands on his again.

"When I started in the academy," Street says, gaze fixed on their hands, "Buck warned me that he already had to pull a few strings. Nate's biological family was cut from the same cloth as mine, and that association wasn't doing me any favors."

Understanding sinks in, but now that he's started, stopping isn't an option.

"I kept in touch a little bit, and once I was on the force it was easier. But once I made the move down to LA, Buck told me the same thing. He said that this was a new, fresh start. One that I hadn't really gotten by staying in Long Beach, and that he wanted me to make the most of it. It was easy, I guess, to stop responding when Nate and I already saw so little of each other, you know? We'd check in at holidays and birthdays or with sports scores, but I told him I was moving and aside from the occasional text, we drifted."

Street shakes his head, a mix of guilt and disgust washing him over him.

"The only reason I waltzed back into that bar was for information for a case. He had every reason to tell me to get out and not look back, but he didn't. He was good like that, to everyone, even people who didn't deserve it."

With his free hand, Street dries his cheeks. He feels Chris squeeze the other, and she clears her throat.

"He sounds like a really amazing guy." She says, smiling soft when he looks up at her.

Turning, Street looks at the front of the house and thinks of everything inside. The photos he's found, old CD mixes they traded, and he smiles, too.

"He was. I wouldn't have made it without him."

They sit in silence, the warm night air moving gently between them. Chris could tell him it gets easier, but the comfort of her touch is doing enough, and she doesn't want to break the bubble they're in with platitudes.

Street feels lighter. It's like the hole in his heart has been sewn a little, and he can take in a full breath. He can't imagine how much longer he would've been able to keep going had Chris not come to find him.

"Thank you," he mumbles after another few minutes of just crickets chirping and the Earth settling.

"I told you, you're important to me. I'm sorry for not coming sooner."

Street shakes his head again, tells her not to be.

"I've spent most of the last few nights a mess in my head. I wouldn't have been receptive to much."

Chris gets it, and squeezes his hand again. They fall back into quiet until a grumble from Street's stomach breaks it, a light chuckle escaping them both.

"I brought food, if you want. First family dinner I've been to in a while, figured a home-cooked meal would also do you good with how you've been drinking protein shakes at work."

Letting go of his hands, Chris grabs one of the containers and pops off the lid. Surprisingly, it's retained some warmth, and she wipes off the fork she set on top and then hands it to Street.

"Arroz con pollo." She says with a smile, Street's stomach grumbling louder.

Street takes a bite and lets it melt in his mouth. Warmth spreads through his body like the sun on a river. Eating slowly, he wants to savor every bite.

"Nate always loved cooking." He says, some bites later. "It wasn't usually an option in the group home, but one he had his own place, he'd buy what he could afford and whip up something every night."

His story is heartwarming, and Chris thinks of herself in the kitchen with her family.

"He ever let you help?"

"No," Street says immediately, lips pressed together but quirking up. "That was his happy place, and he didn't let me anywhere near it until the stove was off."

Chris huffs a laugh.

"You'll have to learn to make something."

Street narrows his eyes at her, unsure if she's teasing, but her expression is genuine and he nods.

"I'll ask Helena to teach me how to make this. It's incredible." Glancing down, it's too dim to tell, so he asks, "What's in the other one?"

She picks up the second tupperware, opening it and setting it on her lap. The cookies are soft and crumbly when she takes a bite.

"Polvorosas. Mirabel helped me make them. But if anyone asks, Victoria's sick and they're for Deacon."

His head tilts and Chris sighs.

"I know you love my family, and they love you. But I didn't want to tell them in case, and Helena called me out."

That only raises another question, and Street's eyes widen with it as he swallows. Knowing this is fodder for him, Chris looks at her knees.

"I only bake when something's wrong."

Street laughs, a warm, gentle laugh, and "ahs" his understanding. His hand brushes hers when he takes a cookie, a short spark.

His whole body relaxes as he eats the cookie. It tastes like love and home, all the good memories he's trying to hold onto right now, and he finishes it and lets the tase dissolve on his tongue.

"Those are amazing."

The compliment makes Chris blush and look away with a shrug.

"It's my Great Aunt's recipe, they're pretty easy."

She's deflecting, it's obvious, but he doesn't let her.

"Thank you, again, Chris, for all of this. I did, do, need a friend."

Leaning over, Street hugs her, and buries his head in her shoulder when she returns the gesture. They fit so easily together, and Street hadn't realized just how hard being apart was until they were back together. That being in Chris's space means being safe in the same way that Nate standing up to his bullies did.

"He would've loved you." Street admits when they pull back, his eyes searching her face. "And you would've beat his ass at boxing, which he would've loved, too."

Another, even warmer, blush starts in Chris and creeps up her chest and neck. Her heart aches for Street, for Nate, but she's glad to have gotten to know him even a little.

"Thank you. Is there anything you need to do here, anything I can help with?"

He looks back at the house and shakes his head, sadness dropping back into him, but not as much.

"No, there wasn't much to clear out. Being here makes me feel closer to him, is all. Things are duller now, but it helps."

"I get it. If you want some time alone, just let me know when you get home?"

Getting a hand on her phone and keys, Chris is prepared to leave him with the cookies, but his hand on hers stops her.

"Stay. I won't be here too much longer, but it's a nice place to sit. Not a lot of noise."

Nodding, Chris sets the items back down and returns to where she was, but closer. Their shoulders and knees just brush, and when Street's hands come into her periphery, she takes one in hers, thumb grazing his knuckles.

"I'm having dinner with my family next Tuesday if you feel up to it. I can teach you how to make those cookies?" She asks, and Street is quick to accept, looking again into the sky and trees.

Time seems to slow down in a good way, minutes passing like hours, and trading the occasional sidelong glances.

No more words are passed between them, nothing but their own hearts beating in sync, and it's enough.

-x-

Hello! First, as always, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! This is one that's been in my head since watching 3x12 a few weeks ago, and I'm so happy with how it turned out. I hope you feel the same! The scenes with Chris's family weren't planned, per se, but I enjoyed writing them, because Chris with her family isn't something we see enough of (check out Family Affairs by sandyfin if you love it as much as I do for both amazing Stris and Stris with Chris's family). (Also, no, I'm not 100% clear on if it's Tomas or Thomas, so if we all have a preference let me know and I'll edit it lol). The only other fic I have planned and started for this is another post-Lion's Den, and after that, it's back to the rewatch! If there are any specific moments/episodes you want to see expanded on, please let me know! And thank you to everyone who's read, given kudos, and commented, it truly makes me so happy to write about these two and know that people like reading it. So I'm sending you all so much love 3 3 3 Stay liquid! Xo, Allie