post 3x8. hurt/comfort, post-breakup.
-x-
The unknown number that appears on his screen at almost 10PM is more than enough to make Street's blood run cold. His mom is back in prison, but that doesn't mean much by way of her safety, really. He deleted the prison's number right after her PO took her through his door in cuffs, not needing any reminders of the shit show, but now every time his phone rings, he's certain it's someone calling about her.
Even with conflicted feelings tangling up in his stomach, the hairs on the back of his neck drive him to answer the phone. His intuition is the one thing Buck always made sure he was confident in, and it tells him to knock the shake out of his voice and answer.
"This is Jim Street."
"Jim?"
The Australian accent and soft gasp from someone else in the room are unmistakable. How Ty and Kira got his number, he doesn't know. The question falls away when another, more troublesome pops up: why are they calling you?
Something happened with Chris. It's the only possibility. It hurts a hell of a lot more than thinking his mom got herself in trouble in prison.
"Yeah, what's wrong?"
"Hey. This is Ty and—"
He cuts them off, voice sharp because he obviously knows who they are even if they've only met once, but he doesn't know where Chris is or where she has been other than "taking a personal day."
For all their 'no secrets on SWAT,' Deacon was as tight-lipped as he could be about anything having to do with Chris. Street respects it, but the worry that's been simmering under him all day is rapidly becoming a furious boil.
"Is Chris okay? Does she need something?"
Electricity crackles in his veins and he reminds himself to take a breath and give the duo time to answer. Ty's nervous chuckle does nothing to inspire confidence, and Street finds himself with a white-knuckled grip on the edge of the table.
"We were hoping she might be with your team. Kira came home earlier and Chris said she wasn't feeling well, but when we got home, all of her things were gone. We've been calling and texting for the better part of an hour and a half…"
Ty's voice trails off and it doesn't take much for Street to fill in the blanks. His stomach sinks like a lead weight.
He can only imagine this is how she felt when he was off getting into races that left him without a bike and going rogue for his mom, and he makes a note to apologize, profusely, as soon as he gets the opportunity.
"I'll call her, make sure that I get in touch with her." He says, and then,
"Chris can take care of herself. I'm sure she's fine."
And he is, but he also needs the reassurance that nothing terrible has happened to her.
Relieved sighs come through the phone.
"Thanks, Jim, let us know, please?"
"Of course," he assures, lips in a tight line as his head starts to spin. They tell him to have a good night, and the line goes dead.
His thumb finds her contact and he tamps down his fears as it rings. Releasing his grip on the table, Street taps it instead, needing to expel his energy so he doesn't yell the second she picks up.
This is Chris Alonso, sorry I missed your call. Leave a message. The voicemail repeats in Spanish before Street gets the beep to start talking. He doesn't know what to say, fear settling on him, and he hangs up in favor of a text. Any notion of being inconspicuous or level-headed flies out the window as soon as their text chain is in his face, an invitation to her next family dinner being the most recent message.
Chris, where are you? His jaw clenches, and Street hopes it doesn't sound too demanding. Hopes that Chris will text him back and this will all be a misunderstanding.
He knows it won't be. Chris is nothing but forward and clear in her actions if not her words, so if she's gone, she's gone. Still, he can handle the fallout of her leaving Ty and Kira, not the fallout of her leaving him, or them, whatever they are.
Street paces and gives himself eye strain while he stares at their messages and wills an answer to come through. It takes twenty minutes before he realizes the message hasn't even be delivered, and that her phone is either off or dead.
He can't blame her, he's pulled that more times than he can count in his history of disappearing, but it doesn't make it easier to swallow being on the other end.
Changing out of his flannel pajamas into sweats and an old LBPD shirt, he throws a "be good" over his shoulder to Duke, secures a second helmet to his bike handle, and starts off in what he hopes is her direction.
He rides around for almost another hour, swapping quick, useless updates with Ty and Kira about how she hasn't called them or shown up anywhere. His instinct is to text her Uncle, but Street doesn't want to worry them, too.
He's so in his own head that Street almost misses her truck. In almost any other instance, the approaching yellow light would be a reason to speed up, not slow down, but he does to give himself a minute to breathe. Looking around, the ocean to his right and a busy sidewalk to his left, he does a double take when he can just make out the bold "JEEP" logo on a white truck in the parking lot.
He pulls into the lot with the intensity of someone who won the lottery, heart pounding out of his chest as his eyes travel the license plate.
It's Chris.
Or, at least, her truck.
Street shoots off a "found her" text to Ty and Kira, not wanting to drag this out any longer when she has to be close, even if he hasn't technically laid eyes on her yet.
He taps lightly on her window in case she's sitting inside, not wanting to spook her if she is. There's no answer, and, steadying himself in case someone else sees him, because this can't look good, he cups his hands around his eyes and looks through her Driver's side window.
It's too dark to make out much, but there are boxes stacked in her back seat, with her clothes thrown in a messy pile on top. In the front, he sees another bin, what looks to be a picture frame sticking out.
It's bad, then, worse than he thought. This wasn't just a fight or a hiccup. His heart aches, thinking about how he was the one who pushed her to move in with them in the first place, a genuine attempt at sound advice, because he could tell that she wanted to and was just scared. Could tell Chris wanted to be happy, and reminded her that she could be, if she was able to set her own doubts to the side and give herself the chance. The same thing she's done with Molly.
They're always telling one another that they deserve to be happy.
He's found himself asking more and more recently if their investment in the other's love life is nothing more than a sloppy way to cover up their confused, growing feelings for one another that changed from a gentle flame into a wildfire that night of the benefit.
Those heavy thoughts leave him when he catches sight of her on the beach. Her back is to him, but her short hair and the set of her shoulders is unmistakable to him, even at a distance. The beach is busy enough for the late hour, so Street forces himself to walk and not to run to her, not wanting to cause a panic.
With every step closer, his own blood rushing in his ears becomes louder than the waves droning on a few feet away.
Street comes to her side and takes her in before making her aware of her presence. Chris's shoulders are hunched, knees drawn up to her chest as her eyes gaze out, lost, towards the water. He can hear the catch in her breathing from crying, see the redness on her face in the moonlight, and a slight shake in her hands.
It's all too much. Whether or not he can fix it, he needs to try.
"Hey, Chris."
Chris jumps, clearing her throat and looking at him with wide, brown eyes that he could drown in as easy as the water.
"What are you doing here?" She asks, resignation in her voice.
Street sits down next to her, not touching her in case she wants space.
"Came to make sure you're okay. I called first, but you didn't pick up."
"How'd you find me?"
"Ty and Kira called me, said they couldn't reach you. I figured you had to be somewhere between there, HQ, and Helena and Sarzo's. Almost missed your truck."
Guilt creeps up into her throat at the mention of her partners— ex-partners— and she buries in her head in her knees when more tears threaten to fall.
Chris doesn't know where to start this conversation, but she doesn't have to because he speaks first, setting a warm hand on her back.
"What happened?"
A sob escapes, her back muscles spasming as Street tries to soothe her. Taking a moment to catch her breath and collect herself, Chris turns her cheek on her knees so she can look at Street while she talks, tears wet on the denim.
He knows her heart is broken, and his own cracks at the sight of the sadness and hurt in her eyes.
"They're getting married. I was falling for Kira, and I thought we were on the same page, but they've got each other first."
Her tone is accepting and Street lets out a slow breath, meeting her eyes.
"I'm really sorry, Chris."
She shrugs, moves to look at the ocean as tears roll down her face.
"I don't know if I ever really thought it could work. I met Kira first, I liked her first. Ty was… a surprise. Maybe I was just kidding myself the whole time."
Street's familiar with her tone, it's the same one he uses when he thinks about how he thought that bringing his mom home was a good idea. Underscored with an unfortunate amount of disbelief and some self-loathing that he knows isn't nearly as painful to listen to as it is to feel.
Wrapping his arm around her, he pulls her into his side and also speaks in the direction of the moving water. When he does, Chris feels like he's reading her mind, her soul.
"That didn't stop you from hoping that it would work out, though."
Street's voice is soft, not judgmental, but understanding, and Chris brings a hand up to wipe away the gritty tears, nodding.
"I thought they could be it. I'm so hurt, and I feel so stupid, because it's my own fault."
Her hands run up and down her jean-covered legs, digging into her calves.
"I don't know why I thought Kira would break up with Ty. For me, for anyone."
Street practically feels her walls being built up as she speaks, feeling like all she's proven to herself is that her armor is necessary, justified.
"It isn't wrong to want to be loved, Chris," he says. Her hair tickles her jawline when she shakes her head.
"I don't think that it is. But I learned my lesson a long time ago, Street, that it isn't as worth it as everyone else makes it out to be."
Street's not sure what Chris means, because the set of her words run deeper and older than her sideways relationship with Thompson, but she's never talked much about previous partners before him. Before he can dwell, she's continuing.
"Wanting to be chosen by someone only sets you up for a bigger fall, for more heartache."
Street blows out a low breath. He's sure that this is more than he knows, something fundamental, but he isn't going to pry as much as he wants to know who, or what, convinced her that love isn't worth what it takes from you.
"I'd never take you to be the type to write something off after a bad experience," he says, challenging her just enough that it makes her scoff.
"We all have our things, Street. I've fought to be loved before and it got me burned. I loved her, and I got burned again. Why would I keep putting myself in the line of fire?"
And it breaks his heart more, because he can tell, underneath all her false certainty, that she's lying. That the heart in her chest beats too loud and too hard with love, every second. That there's so much she isn't saying about what she wants because she's scared and hurt.
As much as he wants to hear it, he isn't going to push her now. Instead, he changes the subject.
"Do you blame me?"
Chris is so thrown off, she chokes on a cough, and focuses on the circles he's drawing on her back to calm down. He pulls a water bottle from his pocket, and she rolls her eyes at it being that handy before she takes it gratefully and downs some. There are fewer tears in her voice when she speaks, feelings of shame shifting to confusion over his words.
"What?"
"I told you to go for it. To go on the date, to try out the throuple when Kira sprang it on you. Hell, even to move in. So, do you blame me?"
Chris can't tell him that isn't true, because she's thanked him as many times over for being her sounding board for this whole thing, but she shakes her head.
"No. I'm sure if you saw how this was going to end, you wouldn't have. I was the one who should've seen it before, stuck to my guns that the job and relationships don't mix."
"But they did mix," Street counters, gentle, "once you gave yourself some time to adapt. How could expect yourself to know it wouldn't work if you didn't give it a shot?"
And she hates him. Hates that he's being rational, his words twisting up her gut when all she wants is to close herself off to the world forever.
"Is this supposed to be making me feel better?" Chris asks, voice sharp.
Street nudges her with his shoulder, letting their physical contact act as a precursor.
"You've given me a lot of tough love over the few years we've known each other. I usually didn't want to hear it in the moment, but it always made sense later on. Figured it was time for me to return the favor."
Chris shakes her head again, annoyed, aggravated, and a headache starting to pick up between her eyes. She starts to get up, throws him arm from around her and stands, but stops short when his hand closes around her wrist.
Chris stays where she is while Street stands to meet her, taking her other hand in his, too. His face is soft as his eyes search hers, open in a way she's never understood.
"All I'm saying, Chris, is that regardless of Ty or Kira or anyone else, you should keep giving yourself opportunities to fall in love. Because someday there is going to be someone who sees you, all of you, and values you, and does whatever they need to make it work with you, but you're going to miss out on a lot of that if you let yourself be convinced that it isn't worth it."
Chris deflates, Street's words making her head spin in a way that she can't process right now. She feels his rough, calloused hands against hers, and smells his cologne mixing with the sea air. Flashes of whiskey and lips and picnic tables come to her mind.
She hates him. He's her best friend.
"Fine, Street, whatever," she says, trying to make the feeling in her stomach go away.
Street nods, gives her a smile that's all dimples and perfect teeth, and squeezes her hands before letting go.
"You've gotta be starving, what do you say we grab something to eat?"
Chris looks at the water and then back to her truck and nods.
"Burgers? We can take them back to the house?"
Her voice shakes, an unfamiliar uncertainty blanketing her whole body. Over not having a place to stay anymore, and over being in close quarters with Street.
Street says sure, and then slips his house key off the ring to give her.
"I'll pick them up and meet you there. Duke'll be happy to see you."
Exhausted, Chris gives in without a fight and nods.
"Don't worry," he teases with a wry smile, "I think I remember your order."
Chris huffs a laugh and shoves at his shoulder as they walk back towards their rides.
"Hey, Chris?" Street shouts over the rush of the ocean once they get to the parking lot. Chris turns in the door frame to face him, exhausted but with a better grip on herself.
"What?"
"You're gonna be okay."
With that, Street sticks the helmet on and revs his engine twice. Chris watches as he goes, and only when he's down past the green light does she move to get into her car.
Turning on her truck, she plugs her phone in from it's been dead in the cupholder for hours. Her eyes skim past the missed calls and texts from Ty and Kira, smiling when she sees the ones from him.
Chris gives herself a few deep breaths to settle, and checks to make sure all of her belongings are where she left them, eyes landing on the photo of Champ. Her thumb traces the glass, trying to remember what it was like when she was younger and had no one besides her family.
Another text lights up her phone, something from Tan about missing her in the field, and then another from Deacon of a drawing that Samuel did, and she smiles small.
"It's going to be okay," she reassures herself. Thinking of dinner at Street's and getting back to work tomorrow, she believes it.
-x-
Hello! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! Confession- I started this one a while ago, but just got around to finishing it today, lol. A bit similar to the previous chapter, just flipped, I know, but also heavily inspired by their dynamic that's showcased in 3x10 when Chris is telling Street to be smart about things, and how they're always straight with one another, even when it's not what the other wants to hear. If there's any scenes/episodes you want to see, let me know! Back to the rewatch now to start compiling a list. Kudos and comments are always appreciated! 3 3 Come say hi on tumblr streakyglasses. Stay liquid! Xo, Allie