Post 1x18 "Patrol." Developing relationship, platonic friendship.

The satisfaction of taking down the suspect on the bus fades long before the pain of their earlier fight. She washed off the blood as soon as she could, but the bruises bloomed quick and hot over her torso, and bending and twisting to get her TAC gear off only agitates them worse.

"Chris? You alright?" A voice asks. She doesn't notice anyone entering the locker room, too in her own head. Just as they finish speaking, a hiss escapes where her shirt fabric settles over her skin.

"Woah, Chris?" He asks again, Street , she realizes, and crosses to her on quick feet. His hands are in front of him like he wants to help, but isn't sure how.

"I'm fine," she says, though with less bite and more fatigue than when Deacon and Luca asked her earlier.

"You sure? That looks pretty nasty." Street comments, eyes dragging up the purple splashed over her side that fades out into tan. And she knows, really, that he means no harm, but it's just enough questioning to push her over the edge. She drops her shirt and slams her locker shut.

"Do you need something or are you here to question my abilities like everyone else has today?"

Her eyes are piercing through him, lips in a tight line and ready to release more cutting words. Taking a step back, he's quick to apologize.

"Chris, hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything, just wanted to check on you."

"If it were Tan or Rocker, would you be checking on them?" She hits back.

Street sighs, lets his hand hit against the top of the lockers before leaning against them heavily.

"Well, Rocker probably not, but Tan, yeah. We're a team, a family, so I care about his wellbeing. Someone worked real hard to force that idea into me pretty quick, but I can't remember who." A half-smirk graces his face when he's done. She rolls her eyes but feels some of the tension drain from her body.

"Shut up," she murmurs. Opening her locker again, she grabs her backpack and slings it over her shoulder. As gentle as she tries to be, it still makes her wince. Street steps closer.

"Really, Chris, you should get some heat on that when you get home."

She shakes her head.

"It's fine. It's going to hurt like a bitch tomorrow, and then it'll clear up. No big deal."

Exhaustion burrowing deeper into her, she moves to step around him, keys in hand, but is stopped with a hand light on her elbow.

"You know we all know you're a badass, right? If it were me, I'd be taking something and having an easy night, too. There's no point in just powering through it to prove something"

He lets her go and turns to his locker. She could leave, say goodnight and walk out, but there's something gnawing at her to stay.

"That's where you're wrong, Street."

He stops rummaging through his things, and turns to face her after a beat. Recognizing that it's one of those conversations, she sighs and sits on the bench, backpack by her feet. His eyes follow her form.

"You don't get it, and that's not your fault, but there's always going to be something for me to prove. To a lot of these guys, it doesn't matter that I took him down, it matters that he got the jump on me first. That's the proof they're searching for, and they'll run with it if I give them the chance to."

"Chris, you made SWAT history. You do every day. I'm sorry you deal with this, but if they're not smart enough to see that, it's on them, not you. You deserve to be here, and the rest of us know that." He says, wanting her to see how much she means to 20-David, at least. To him.

She swivels around to look at the rest of the locker room for a second. Each first initial besides hers belonging to a man.

"You know, on my first day, they didn't know what to do with me."

He fixes her with a questioning look, unsure of where she's going with this.

"There's no women's locker room. They asked if I wanted to change in the bathroom every day instead of in here. I grew up with four cousins, three of them male, so it's not like it was really a big deal for me. But I swear the first time I walked in here, everything stopped. Conversations halted, eyes looked at me like I was in the wrong place, whispers and bets started."

Shock hits him like a glass of ice water, and something shifts as he begins to understand what she means.

"Chris, I'm—"

"Don't. It's not like you had anything to do with it. But they didn't make Metro SWAT with women in mind, and most squads still don't. So, yeah, I know I worked my ass off and that I deserve to be here, but on days like today it just sucks to know that to some people I'm always going to be the wrong choice, or a fluke, or something to fill a quota."

She looks annoyed, but also defeated, and it makes Street's chest ache. He's so used to seeing her guns blazing and take no shit that it's easy to forget everything she has to deal with behind the scenes. Unsure of where to go, he grabs his own bag and closes his locker, setting his hand on her shoulder so she meets his eyes.

"For what it's worth, you're one of the best damn cops I've ever worked with, and you make me better every day. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you."

A blush starts to creep up onto her face, and she ducks behind her hair until the goosebumps from his skin on hears calm down. His smile grows, knowing that it worked, but he doesn't make them sit in it any longer.

"C'mon, what do you say we hit up that taco truck Luca's always fawning over? I'm buying."

She matches his smile, but shakes her head again, though this time it's lighter.

"No, thanks, we have a just as early a morning tomorrow, and someone told me I should take it easy."

His eyebrows raise, and she notices, not for the first time, how even in the fluorescent lighting and dingy gray of the locker room, how his eyes sparkle.

"They sound like a very smart person."

"Uh-huh," she says, standing. "Don't flatter yourself."

When she walks around him, he lets her go, turning to look at her one more time when she stops in the doorway.

"Thanks for listening, Street."

He nods, looks at an already-fading picture of the team that was in the newspaper after a bust. Time already seems to be moving too fast, but he takes a deep breath.

"What's family for, right? Have a good night, Chris."

"You, too, Street."

She hits the doorjamb twice before turning around and heading out, a newfound sense of ease settling on her despite the shitty day she's had.

In the locker room, Street takes a second to take stock of his own locker, and then the names on all the others. Finally, his eyes stop on C. Alonso.

She's one of a kind, he thinks, and he knows he doesn't just mean SWAT.

Hello! Thank you so much for reading! First, I highly recommend that everyone go read "Overreaction," by sandyfin on ao3, the fic that inspired this series. It's one of the loveliest things I've read! Truthfully, I have no clue when this will be updated. I'm at the end of S2 on a rewatch, and the list of episodes/ideas I have is long, but I don't know if I'm going to go in chronological order. Also, I wrote and published this same-day, so I'll update as much as I can, considering that, lol. As always, comments/kudos appreciated, and prompts/suggestions open- if there are any moments you wish were expanded on in the show, let me know, including those with other characters, as they will definitely make an appearance! Say hi on tumblr streakyglasses! Stay liquid! Xo