post 1x19 Source
poison, hospitals, protective Jim Street, protective 20-David Squad, open/ambiguous ending, developing feelings
The second he sees Chris go down is the worst moment of Street's life. Fear has his heart in a vice grip. He understands what it means to be murderous for the first time.
"Street, get the runner!" Hondo yells. Before Street can think, he's sprinting through the back hallway in pursuit of the man who sprayed Chris.
Street catches him quickly, fueled by the need to get back to Chris as soon as possible and his overwhelming anger at whoever this man is to hurt her. Throwing him across the floor feels good, but in his comm he hears anxious communication between Hondo and Deacon about how much time they have, and Chris's choked breathing.
"I got the guy who dosed Chris. Tan, take it before I lose it on him." Street spits. Rocker, bless him, handles all three men once their wrists are ziptied, giving Tan and Street plenty of room to get outside.
He hears Tan ask Hondo how long it's been, but Chris is the only thing Street can focus on, running to her side and taking her hand in his.
"Chris, hey," Street says in the adrenaline pumping through the air. "Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey."
He doesn't know if his voice is as even or comforting as he hopes, or if she can feel his other hand come to cradle the side of her head as he begs her to keep fighting. Her eyes are unfocused and watery, gaze unable to land on anything and stay there while her body gasps for air and spasms, trying to expel the poison.
Street sees her eyes start to close and his heart jumps. They flutter open only to shut again, like she's shutting down, and Street no longer cares that he's yelling.
"Chris? Hey, Chris! Stay with me, you're good." He begs her, pleading with any god above or below to help her hang in there for long enough to get the shot. The thought of losing her is unimaginable, let alone like this, and he squeezes her hand tighter as her fingers twitch and then go limp.
Finally, like the sound of angels singing, Black Betty's sirens blow Street's eardrums out. Hondo's yelling, Tan's yelling, and he can hear himself yelling as Deacon and Luca jump from the truck.
Keeping her hand in both of his, Street moves closer to her head, giving Deacon as much room as he can without letting her go.
Time slows down as Street watches Deacon inject Chris with the atropine. Silence follows, the seconds turning to hours as he holds on by the skin of his teeth to the hope that she'll be fine.
She can't be gone.
The gasp that escapes is music to his ears. Nervous, relieved laughter from the team mixes in the air and the last of Chris's coughs as she works to regain control of her breathing. When Street squeezes her shoulder, Chris turns her head enough to find him, and her eyes are the best thing he's ever seen.
They're swimming with pain, but as alert as they can be. They're Chris's.
Smiling at her, Street leaves his hand on her shoulder, needing the reassurance that she'll be okay.
The team continues to breathe heavily around her as their adrenaline wanes. They squeeze her hands and offer encouragement until an ambulance pulls to a stop in front of the hotel. Two paramedics jump from the back, rolling a stretcher with them that they're quick to get to get Chris onto.
"Is anyone coming with her?" One of them asks, everyone looking to Hondo to make the call.
"Street, go. The rest of you, take Betty. I'll meet you there after with Captain Cortez."
Street can't tell if it's because they're field partners, or if Hondo just knows how close he and Chris have gotten over his tumultuous time with 20-Squad, but he doesn't care as he piles into the ambulance and takes a seat where he's directed, at Chris's side.
With the little energy she has, Chris grips at the air until she finds Street's hand. Someone's affixing an oxygen mask over her face to take the pressure off her lungs, and it's like they've lifted a ton off her chest. Still, as exhausted as she is, Chris doesn't want to fall asleep.
Aside from their poking and prodding which makes it hard, Chris keeps her eyes locked on Street's to combat unconsciousness. The hues of light brown and green that comprise his hazel irises are colors Chris is sure she's never seen before and doesn't see anywhere else, and she tries to log them into her memory.
His eyelashes are lighter than his hair, just by a shade or two, Chris realizes. She wonders if anyone's ever told him before, but opening her mouth to try is met with another harsh cough and instruction from the paramedics to take it easy.
Unable to talk, she answers his questions and the questions of the paramedics with blinks and nods, though the more they ask, the harder it is to understand what they need from her.
Noticing her wavering consciousness, Street stops asking if she's okay and switches to telling her that she is, instead.
"We're almost at the hospital. They're going to get you all fixed up. You're so strong, Chris, you're doing great. Just another few minutes."
His free hand rests on the side of her head, and it's soothing now that the pounding in her skull has died down so she can focus on it. Gently, the pad of his thumb grazes over her forehead, catching the end of her eyebrow. Chris closes her eyes at the comfort but she keeps holding his hand tight so he knows she's awake.
The ambulance comes to a bumpy stop and the night air is warm on her face and chest when the back doors of the ambulance open and they lift her to the asphalt. Street is quick to jump down, taking Chris's hand in his again while he can. Her breath fogs up the mask, and half of her face trailing down her neck is still an angry, splotchy red.
A new concern about her eyesight comes to mind, but she seemed to be okay in the ambulance so Street tries to breathe through the anxiety.
"I'm sorry, Officer, this is as far as I can let you go."
The nurse's words are like a glass of ice water down Street's back. He doesn't want to let go of her hand, not after watching her fight for her life not even half an hour ago.
"I—" Street's prepared to argue even though he doesn't have a leg to stand on.
But then Chris squeezes his hand to bring his attention back to her, and she nods as if to say the worst is over and she'll be fine. With no choice but to believe her, Street sets her hand gingerly at her side, and waits until the heavy doors are closed to find a seat in the waiting room.
The rest of the team, including Hondo and Captain Cortez, have arrived by the time the same nurse from before comes to talk to them. She tells them that Chris is alright, just tired, and will be back to full health in due time.
"Can we see her?" Deacon asks, the question in all of their minds.
"Two people at a time, no longer than a few minutes."
Hondo and Captain Cortez go first, followed by Deacon and Luca. Street wishes he was alone, but he only hears half of what Tan says anyway when they walk into her room and his eyes find hers.
Standing just off Tan's shoulder, relief courses through Street with every nod and tired smile that Chris can give them. An oxygen mask sits snug on her face, still impeding her ability to talk, but the labored movement of her shoulders and the way she winces against the strain in her chest tells Street she needs it.
Street tries not to blink. He wants, needs, to memorize Chris like this so the image of her on the ground will leave him. Her skin is calmer, she's calmer, and when Tan steps back for Street to talk to her, he can't help but ask for a few minutes alone.
With a tight-lipped smile, Tan looks between the pair and says sure, telling Chris one more time that he's glad she's okay.
Street waits for the door to close to pull a chair next to her bed. Chris glances down at their connected hands when he takes hers. It's warm against the chill of the hospital and she tries to siphon as much heat from him as she can.
"You feeling alright?" Street asks, now that she isn't on the verge of death and it's a more reasonable question.
Full of pain medication and ready to sleep for a month, Chris nods. The edges of her world are fuzzy, but Street's face is clear as day and full of concern that also helps warm her.
"Good, I, we, were worried out there today."
Chris shrugs and gives him a look like she had no doubt they'd get her the antidote in time. Whatever fears she had about being hit slipped away the second she actually was, fading into nothing amidst the excruciating pain of the gas. In hindsight, Chris is glad she wasn't able to think about anything, not even the team or her own death. It makes it easier to make them feel better, and to keep the memories at bay even though the evidence lingers on her body.
The only other thing she remembers is Street's voice. How it broke through everything and reminded her she was alive and there was still a world out there. Chris couldn't place it until she looked around them afterwards, the red carpet and concrete hard under her back, but once she saw Street's face, she knew it was him.
Reaching a tired hand to her face, Chris pulls the mask to the side before Street can stop her. Breathing gets harder immediately but she inhales shakily and braces her core enough to get out what she wants in a scratchy voice.
"I heard you. It helped."
Her words find Street's heart and he doesn't know what to do with them. Chris has been his best friend for months now, but his larger feelings for her are a constant underscore in his life. He tries to press it all down and, needing something to do with his hands, he guides Chris's hand holding the mask back to her face, sure it's secure when her wheezing stops and she relaxes back into the pillows, eyes fluttering closed.
Street stands, leaving their hands connected. He wishes he had his bike so that he could stay, but Chris wouldn't let him even if he did, and there's not much he could do here besides watch her sleep.
After earlier, there's not much else he wants to do. He shakes the thought off.
"You'll be out of here soon." He says as Chris starts to lose the battle against sleep. More sits on his tongue but now's not the time. Street tucks the thoughts away with the hope that eventually it will be.
Needing to see her eyes one more time, Street squeezes her hand until they flit open. His thumb rubs over her fingers, and he smiles at the way her eyes roll at him as they close again, like she's clued into why he wanted them open.
"Have a good night, Chris," he says, letting go of her hand and unable to resist pulling the blanket up higher over her when she slips her arms under the covers. The last thing Street does is dim the light by her bed, casting the room in a soft yellow glow that, even with her skin marred, Chris looks beautiful in.
He takes one more second for just the two of them before walking out on quiet feet and finding Tan in the hallway.
"Hey, sorry, I didn't mean to keep you waiting that long."
Tan shrugs, saying it isn't a big deal.
"But Deac and Hondo needed to get home, so Luca took them and Captain back in Betty. We've got the Charger."
Tan holds the keys up with his thumb and forefinger and jangles them, but Street's too tired to feign a fight over wanting to drive.
"I don't think we'll get into a high-speed chase on the way back, so you take it." Street says, sharing an easy smile with Tan. They head towards the exit, thanking the nurses again and saying they're sure they'll see them again within the next few days.
The nighttime air feels fresh on Street's face, a coolness that cuts through the final ebbs of terror and makes him secure in the idea that Chris is safe and okay. He wants to shower, to erase as much of this day as he can, and as soon as they get back to HQ he gets one running.
Waiting for the water to heat up, Street grabs his clothes from his locker and finishes straightening his gear. His eyes fall to the C. Alonso that sits a few doors down.
Street's knuckles are white where he grips his locker door and breathes through the picture of Chris gasping for air, reminding himself that she's asleep across town and the Russians are behind bars.
He can't seem to break up the stone in his stomach that's made up of equal parts adrenaline and fear from the day, though. Behind it sits the nagging, even scarier feeling that, while his whole team has become family, there's only one person who could make him feel like this. One person who's become so intertwined with him that his existence is predicated on hers.
Street doesn't know how long he stands in the locker room, staring at the sticker on her locker, running his fingers over the bold letters that make up the strongest person he knows.
"She's good, Street," Hondo's voice bounces off the locker room walls. "You doing okay?"
"Yeah," Street says, fingers slipping back to his side. "Yeah, I'm good, Hondo."
hello! happy thanksgiving to those celebrating today! i wanted to post a little something that i started tinkering with. i hope you enjoyed! any comments/kudos/etc appreciated and suggestions are welcome. all my love and well wishes. xo, A