Street knows the second Chris walks through the door that something is wrong.
Despite their months of dating, she still usually insists on a few short knocks to alert them of her presence before entering. Tonight, though, she slips in so quietly it's like she's trying not to be seen or heard at all.
Street catches sight of her from the kitchen, his smile falling at how small she looks standing under the yellow entryway light. Her leather jacket swims on her in an unfamiliar way, fists by her side clenched and shaking, and redness from tears evident on her face.
Their conversation from a week ago about Mama Pina's deteriorating condition comes to mind, and the text Chris sent him earlier asking him to please wait up for her, a show of vulnerability that he knew it was something serious, click together like puzzle pieces.
His phone slips from his hands onto the counter as he moves from behind it to in front of Chris in a breath. Seeing her up close, eyes watery and shoulders at her ears, only solidifies his theory.
"I'm so sorry, Chris," Street breathes out, the only thing he can think to say before wrapping her in his arms and feeling her tears hot on his skin.
As soon as Street's arms are around her the shaky dam Chris constructed once she left the safe house comes crashing down. Fingers finding his back when her arms loop around his shoulders, Chris doesn't have the strength to hold onto him like she wants to, so she steps closer like she can hide herself in him completely if she gets near enough.
Street feels Chris's entire body trembling against his. His heart breaks for her.
Exhaling, he stops his caressing to rest his hand firmly on the small of her back, and presses into her just enough for Chris to wrap her legs around his waist, ankles locking. His other hand cradles the back of her head as he walks down the hallway to his bedroom, careful of where Chris's body is in space at all times.
In his room, he walks until his shins hit the edge of the bed. Chris slides down until she's on the mattress, but her instinct to kick off her shoes and then curl into a ball on her side is stopped by Street's hand on her shoulder.
"Wait," Street says, taking Chris's shoes and setting them by the door, and then turning to his dresser. She has a drawer of things, but he forgoes it to dig through his shirts until he finds what he's looking for.
It's one of the first SWAT Fundraiser shirts Street got, a size too big for him because it's all they had left for the new guy, now worn soft with age. It's also one of Chris's favorite that she sneaks back to her apartment half the time when she thinks he won't notice, only after leaving it on the bed for him to put on after he showers. Street's glad it found its way back to his drawer, shaking it out and walking back to Chris.
"C'mon," Street kneels softly, meeting her eyes and seeing how distant her gaze is even as she tries to focus on him through the storm of emotions and tears. He breaks from her, looking down at her knees where he rubs a thumb over the denim to remind himself that she's needs him more.
"You'll feel better out of these clothes, I promise." Street continues, though his voice shakes around the small smile he hopes will comfort her.
Without a word, tears still tracking down her face, Chris stands and shrugs off the leather jacket, letting it fall onto his comforter, zippers jangling. Her arms drop back to her sides, heavy with exhaustion, and fumble with the button of her jeans until Street's hands cover hers.
"It's okay, Chris, I've got it." He says. It would normally make Chris balk, but his tone isn't demanding or telling her that she can't, just that he's got it instead. She's too tired to fight the warmth spreading through her at being taken care of despite how awful the circumstances are, so she lets him shimmy the jeans down her leg, stepping out when he taps her ankle.
She lifts her arms with energy she doesn't have for him to pull off her shirt and undo her bra before slipping his shirt over her head. It's comforting despite coming straight from the drawer, and Chris crawls under the covers while Street folds her clothes into a neat pile and sets them on his dresser.
Eyes closed and mind whirring, Chris hears Street's footsteps grow faint for a moment. Returning, he slides into the other side of the bed, his arm coming around her like a moth to a flame.
"Here," he says, and Chris flutters her eyes open to see him holding a water bottle. She takes it with a sigh, swallowing what she can and feeling how it slows her nervous system like a film over fire. Each thread from the sheets seems to catch on Chris's skin, and she pulls her knees to her chest, burrowing closer to Street's chest to combat it.
His own knees rise, knocking against hers so she fits between his thighs and chest with her head tucked under his chin. Her hot, slow tears and quiet whimpers are all Street's aware of as he drags a hand up and down her spine. The other sits on top of hers where it rests on his chest, bringing it to his lips to press soft kisses to her fingers as they grasp for any kind of peace.
"I'm sorry for it being so late," Chris says some fifteen minutes later, though any sense of time left her in the rush to the safe house from her apartment that afternoon. Her voice breaks, new tears overpowering the thoughts of how late nights made early calls that much more hellacious.
"I couldn't leave the women until I was sure they were… Marcos is staying there tonight."
Street nods, following her choppy sentences.
"It's okay. I already texted Hondo that I'm taking tomorrow off." He says, Chris swearing he sees into the depths of her soul when he ignores her sharp inhale and keeps going.
"Let me help take care of you so you can take care of them."
Chris grips him tighter, and Street takes it as silent acceptance that screams with her trust in him. He holds it next to his heart like sparkling gold.
"I don't know how I'm gonna do it," Chris confesses through an unsteady, scared whisper, and tears that cling to her eyelashes and roll down his Adam's apple. She can't look at him, so Street's cups the side of her face, titling his chin down to kiss her hairline.
"I love you," he tells her. A reminder that she doesn't have to, that she won't, be doing it alone.
He catches her tears with his thumb, drawing them back towards her temple and into her hair.
"You've already done so much just taking over from Mama Pina and keeping the safe house running. She's so proud of you, I know that. Whatever's next, it'll get figured out."
Street's words blanket her, gentle but strong, and her body relaxes into them like a fire in winter. Her hair brushes against his chin when she nods, taking a deep breath and letting his scent lull her as much as the steadiness of his heartbeat underneath her cold hand.
But grief continues to wash over her in waves, snaking around her ribs and making her heart strain against her sternum. Every time, Street's there, whispering reassurances in her ear as the Los Angeles night gets darker.
"I know it hurts," he says, blinking away his own tears from seeing the woman he loves in so much pain. "You're not alone."
He pulls the blanket up higher around both of them, an extra layer of protection against the harsh outside world. Chris feels the fight between dwindling adrenaline and mounting exhaustion begin, gasping as her lungs try to get in enough air.
"Follow me," Street's rasp is clear in her ear like a flashlight pointing to the end of a dark tunnel. Wherever their bodies make contact, Chris tries to focus on the rise and fall of his breathing and get herself to do the same. His encouragements help her try again when her body spasms, and each small success brings her closer to the edge of sleep, untenable as it may be.
Once she's found control of her breathing, Street looks down at Chris. Feels the faint fluttering of her eyelashes on his neck, and finds her eyes. They're glassy with unshed tears, and cavernous, full of heartache, but sparkle even in the darkness of his bedroom at one am. Street's fingers dance over Chris's chin and down her neck, a whisper of a touch to anchor her as he leans down to kiss her.
She follows his lips with hers when he pulls back, connecting them again in a desperate attempt to pour out some of the hurt that rushes through her veins. It's a new kind of intensity, not fast or pleading, but one that lets Street reach inside of her and hold his heart in her hands, knowing he'll protect it.
He vows to.
"It'll be alright, Chris. We'll get through this together," he swears, over her heavy breathing when they part, foreheads pressed together. "You should try to rest."
Chris knows he's right, and that she's closer to losing herself from the waking world than she wants to admit. Groans escape as she brings her awareness back to her body and the world around it.
Muscles stiff from tension, Chris slowly untangles herself from Street so she can lie back and stretch out her weary limbs under his heavy comforter. She waits for Street to do the same, adjusting against him so her body's surrounded by his warmth and not the cold cotton of untouched sheets.
He's used to Chris sleeping with her back to him, but she stays facing him with her head resting low on his pillow. One of her legs is hooked over one of his, sitting in the groove of space between his legs, finding all the warmth in him she can. Her arms rest near her face, fingers twitching for something, until Street takes a hand and holds them on his stomach.
Silence falls over them, just the low hum of electricity and the house creaking as it settles underneath Street's even breaths and the subtle catch in Chris's. Cracking an eye open, Street cranes his neck to drop his lips to her forehead, the vibration of his words soothing on her skin.
"Sleep, it's okay. I'll be right here in the morning. I love you."
"I love you, too," Chris murmurs, and then gives herself over to the restful call of night.
-x-
Hello! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! I woke up with this in my head, and now here she is (so if you catch any mistakes, that's why lol). I'm a sucker for some hurt/comfort (again, especially because we don't see a ton on the actual show). I'm hoping to write a second chapter for this, not sure when it'll be up, though. Comments/kudos/suggestions are always appreciated. I read them all and they make my heart warm. It's incredible how wonderful this fandom is, if small, and I'm so grateful for it. Always here to talk about whatever SWAT/Stris-related stuff anyone wants to toss around. Hoping you're well! Xo, Allie