Post 4x8, angst and hurt/comfort, friendship, family, caretaking.
-x-
Chris doesn't know how she made it to Sarzo and Helena's house, just that she's here. The last thing she remembers is talking to FID and then being in the locker room to change, leaving without another word to anyone. A fog hangs thick and heavy over the entire world, and Chris feels like a ghost of herself as she gets out of her truck and walks to their front door.
It feels wrong to just walk in even though it's the house she grew up in. The knocks reverberate in her head but the sound is warped underneath her own blood rushing in her ears. Helena opens the door with a wide smile on her face that falls the second she sees the state Chris is in.
"Chrissy?"
The tone of Helena's voice raises concern, so Sarzo joins her.
"Chris?" He asks, worried enough that it snaps Chris out of her daze, because her family never calls her Chris.
"I'm—" Chris starts, looking around like she's realizing where she is for the first time. Her voice is shaking with tears, more threatening to fall as one hand grips the strap of her backpack until her knuckles turn white.
"I'm sorry, I didn't, um… I'll go."
Where, Chris has no clue. The thought of facing her apartment is enough to drown her in a sea of memories and panic.
"No," Helena says, reaching out a hand to hold Chris's and then seeing the stain of red that fills in the cracks of Chris's knuckles. Helena's heartbeat jumps, and she holds Chris's hand tighter and tamps down her own fears.
"C'mon, Chrissy. Whatever happened, you're staying here tonight."
At Helena's gentle tug, Chris takes a step forward through the doorway, further guided by Sarzo's hand on her shoulder. She feels one of them pull at her backpack strap until she drops her hand so it can slide down her back and sit against the wall next to the door. Chris's eyes bounce between them, desperately trying to connect with them in a way that seems impossible from whatever glass wall that formed between her and the rest of the world after she hung up with Luca.
"Erika died," Chris whispers, the words coming from an unknown place inside her. Looking between her Aunt and Uncle again, her eyes beg them to understand without her needing to say anything else.
Their slow, gentle nods tell her they do. A hair of the weight that's crushing Chris is relieved.
"I'm so sorry, Chrissy," Sarzo says, pulling Chris in for a hug that she doesn't return, but it soothes her all the same. "We know you were close. You can stay here for as long as you need."
Chris nods, small and fast, letting the tears fall where they may so she doesn't smear Erika's blood over her face.
"I didn't finish breaking down the bed." Chris says, the picture forming in her mind quickly being washed away by Helena.
"Absolutely not, Chrissy," Helena starts, and lowers her volume at Chris's subtle flinch. "You're not sleeping in the garage, sweetheart. We'll figure that out later. C'mon, do you want a shower?"
Too much to process, Chris only catches Helena's last question, and she gives her another small nod. Helena wraps her other arm around Chris's shoulders, tosses Sarzo a look, and then guides Chris down the hallway towards the bathroom.
Sarzo goes to the garage to collect an errant shirt and a pair of pajama shorts that Chris left in the midst of moving. He knocks on the bathroom door, opening it at Helena's okay to see Helena snagging towels from under the sink while Chris washes her hands, the water running pink as it swirls down the drain.
Hands clean, Chris moves on autopilot. Helena leaves her with the instruction to holler if she needs anything, and Chris finds her way under the hot stream. It doesn't do much to cut through the numbness she's using to keep herself upright.
Chris stands in the shower for so long after she's done washing her hair and body that the water runs cold. Something in her brain flips like a switch with the thought that she should turn it off and get out, so she does. Muscle memory continues to guide her as she dresses and runs a brush through her hair, and then she's standing in the open doorway of the bathroom, wondering where to go from there.
Where any of them will go from here. How.
"Hey, Chris! Chris?" Tomas says, his grin turning into a question as he takes her in.
Suddenly, Chris is 16 and Tomas is 12. Conversations turn into hushed whispers, and her energetic, loving baby cousin is getting worse before he's getting better. He's the next person Chris is sure she's going to lose, and she doesn't know how to cope.
Chris crushes Tomas in a hug. She fights herself to not start sobbing, managing to win, but Tomas feels her shaking in his arms.
"What's wrong?" He asks, a question that cuts through Chris like a knife.
"Tomas!" Sarzo calls from the down hallway, voice too light to not be covering something up, as Chris forgets how to breathe next to him.
"Go help finish dinner, thank you."
Tomas nods, sliding past Sarzo with a questioning look that's answered with a curt shake of the head. The kind of shock Chris is in is plenty familiar to him, a water he waded through for week's after his sister, Chris's mother, died.
"Do you want to lie down? Or dinner will be done soon if you're hungry?" Sarzo says, hands on Chris's shoulders to ground her.
With the permission to disengage completely from the world handed to her, Chris begins to walk in the direction of the garage. Sarzo stops her, tries to tell her to go to their room but is cut off by a mumbled reassurance that it's fine. Helena does the same, not getting out as many words before the door to the garage closes slowly.
Accepting it, Sarzo gathers Chris's backpack, a bottle of water, tissues, and Advil. Helena opens the door for him and follows as he sets what he's got on the floor and table next to Chris. She's staring at the ceiling, a tear making its way down her cheeks every few seconds.
Chris murmurs a thank you and lets herself be comforted by their hands on her forehead and kisses to the spot thereafter. They leave with a reminder that they're there for anything she needs.
Unzipping her backpack, Chris finds her phone and unlocks it, desperate for any distraction from the unbeatable turmoil raging inside her. Notifications from the day pile on her screen, the top one telling her that her and Erika's couch was delivered.
Chris doesn't know how long she cries.
Street feels awful. Awful about the case, awful about Erika, and mostly awful about how relieved he is that it wasn't Chris.
Talking to FID was like wading through a minefield, trying to remember exactly what happened and how it all went down, when all Street wanted was to be with the rest of his team. The ride back to HQ was silent.
He didn't get to see Chris. As soon as they got back, she was in the locker room and then gone like she was never there in the first place. His instinct was to text or call her but he knows what it means to need space, at least for a few hours. With a text to Molly that he also needs a night to process, Street drives himself back to the house and gets in the shower before he can think to do anything else.
As soon as the water is off and a towel's wrapped around his waist, Street's thinking of Chris again. Glancing at the clock, it tells him he was in the shower for longer than he thought, the sun beginning to set. His stomach grumbles, and a plan forms in his mind that seems too simple given how blurred out reality is.
Eat, let Duke out, go see Chris.
Navigating to her apartment is still new. Every few minutes, Street checks his watch like if he doesn't lay eyes on Chris soon, she'll disappear. His eyes start to scan the parking lot as soon as it's within view, but Chris's truck is nowhere to be found.
He can't blame her, but his heartbeat jumps with worry all the same. There's only one other place he thinks Chris could be, and Street prays that she's there.
Helmet on and engine revved, Street speeds towards her Aunt and Uncle's house.
A calmness rushes through Street when he sees her truck parked in the driveway. It doesn't mean much, there's no way Chris is okay, but at least she's safe. He straps his bike helmet around the handle bars and squeezes his thumbs to channel his nerves as he walks up the front porch and knocks.
Movement from inside spurs Street to count the seconds of his breaths and try to temper any worry on his face. Sarzo answers the door with a grave expression of his own. Both men swallow before Sarzo speaks.
"Hey, Street, come in." Sarzo steps behind the door and Street steps in. His eyes travel over the living room and hallway, listening for any sign of Chris.
"She's in the garage. Tomas is with her." Any questions about why Chris is staying in the garage fall away with Sarzo's tone. She didn't give them a choice, always trying to minimize the impact she's making on other people even when the world's fallen out from under her feet. She was closer with Erika than any of them.
"Can I see her?" Street asks, voice shaking. Sarzo nods, gesturing towards the door. Passing the kitchen table, Helena sits, looking as shaken up as all of them. Street leans down to hug her loosely, feels Helena's hand come up to squeeze his.
Street stands at the door, gathering his courage to face what's on the other side. He knows she has Tomas and her family, but they weren't there. Didn't see Erika go down or Chris's reaction.
Taking one more deep breath, Street opens the door and slips through it.
His heart breaks.
In the dim lighting of the table lamp, Street sees Chris, curled up on her side in the bed. Quiet, but guttural cries keep escaping her, followed by gasps for air with shuddering shoulders. Tomas sits on the floor, leaning against the bed frame and holding one of Chris's hands.
Sensing movement, Tomas looks over and finds Street, a fierce protectiveness in both of their eyes.
Street takes another small step towards Chris and watches Tomas lean over and whisper something to Chris that she doesn't quite seem to hear. After running a hand down her face and pressing a kiss to Chris's forehead, Tomas stands.
When he passes Street, Tomas's hand locks around his forearm. He doesn't say anything but Street understands and he nods curtly. Letting him go, Tomas glances back at Chris one more time before the door's hinges squeak open and then it latches, leaving her and Street alone.
Body moving of its own volition, Street finds himself kneeling next to Chris, with tears of his own forming rapidly. In a moment of exhaustion, Chris's cries stop. Her eyes blink open at the feel of a new hand on her shoulder and another taking one of hers where they're in tight fists at her chest.
Street.
Chris doesn't believe what, who, she's seeing at first. Tears blur her vision and she doesn't trust anything since everything still feels too surreal to function.
"Street?" She says, voice hoarse and crackling with tears as she struggles to take a breath.
All Street can manage is a nod. His hand moves from her shoulder to wipe his own tears away, and his gaze falls for a second while he tries to get a hold of himself. The relief of seeing her again is insurmountable.
"Yeah," he says, clearing his throat. "Yeah. I wanted to check on you."
Chris's eyes close again, her face screwing together with emotions and tension from her effort to not let the tears fall.
Street observes her, his own mouth falling open and closing as he looks for words.
"I'm so sorry, Chris," he says in a low, gentle voice. He wants to say that he's there for her and that it isn't her fault and a million more things, but his thoughts and guts are as jumbled as Chris's in the wake of Erika's death.
His apology cracks the last of the crumbled walls Chris has. Her sobs start again, harsh and devastating, each one like a knife to Street's heart that twists deeper and deeper.
To what end, Chris doesn't know, but she tugs hard at Street's hand that's in hers until he gets the hint and stands. He wishes for a moment that he brought sweats, but Chris is far more important than his comfort right now. Slipping his flannel off, Street lays it over Chris's trembling shoulders and then carefully sits on the edge of the bed to lie down behind her.
His body creates the same shape as hers, denim on her bare skin as Chris holds the flannel tighter in her grip. She doesn't let it go when Street's arms come around her chest, holding her like he's trying to keep all of her broken pieces together inside of her.
There's nothing in Chris besides overwhelming grief that pours out for hours into Street's arms. She keeps thinking about how unfair it is, about every detail of Erika, and all it does is make more hurt for Chris to expel.
Street cries, too, tears running down his face and wetting the pillow underneath. More keep coming and he buries his face in Chris's hair, squeezing her ever closer.
"Please don't leave," Chris chokes out, the same pleading tone she had with Luca on the phone earlier. Her voice is so thick with tears that it takes Street a second to process what she said.
"I won't, I promise."
Neither know how long they lie entangled. Chris falls asleep first, and Street's more surprised that she was awake as long as she was.
But he also knows sleep is a welcome release not easily granted in times like these. Not when there's so much churning inside that can't be put into words.
Chris still grips him in sleep. He listens to her breathing, louder through her mouth since her nose is blocked. Street is cautious not to jostle her as he works one of his hands free to run over her hair a few times, gaze soft on her.
His own storm is brewing, has been brewing for years, but at least right now she's here, they both are.
Some time later, the door creaks open slowly. Street squints until Helena and Sarzo's faces come into focus, looking at Chris with heartbreak in their eyes.
"What time is it?" Street whispers as they step closer.
"Nine." Sarzo says. "We wanted to check on her again."
Street brings his free hand to rest along his side, though it does little to hide how Chris has pressed herself against his chest and buried her face in his flannel.
"She fell asleep a while ago. She asked me to stay if…"
"Please do," Helena says, at the same time as Sarzo's "that's fine."
They ask if there's anything Street needs, who shakes his head. Staring at Chris for another few moments, they turn to go back inside once they're sure she doesn't need them.
When they get to the door, Helena turns around again and finds Street's eyes.
"Thank you."
Lips in a line and heart beating like a drum in his chest, Street nods.
It's not long before Chris starts tossing in her sleep, the exhaustion relieved enough to let the images of what happened seep into her dreams. Street shushes her, keeps petting her hair with the hopes that she'll quiet again. The first two times it works, but the third time Erika goes down in her mind, she doesn't have the strength to get away from it. The picture grows bigger and bigger until it pushes Chris out of her sleep with a gasp.
"Hey," Street's voice is there immediately, coming to her like an anchor line that helps her stay close enough to see the shore. "You're safe. Take a deep breath. Good."
Chris needs a moment to get her bearings, and when she has them she realizes how protected she feels right now with Street behind her, his voice washing over and one of his hands in hers. The thought of pushing him away comes to mind but she's not strong enough to act on that right now either, willing to take whatever fleeting facade of peace she gets.
Her insides are calmer, but by no means calm. She doesn't turn to look at him because she's afraid what will happen when their eyes meet. What will come spilling out of her.
Hearing his voice in her head, Chris takes another deep breath, and then another. She's always been barbed wire and now she's dripping with blood and sparking with electricity in a way anyone could see is dangerous. He's close enough to be cut, but he's there, throwing a blanket over her until the spikes sink into her and she feels human again.
Street walks around his words, not saying anything until they've settled in his mind and he's sure they won't make things worse.
"Is there anything I can get you? Tissues, more water?"
Shaking her head, a small, pained cough escapes Chris. Her body adjusts against the mattress again.
"I just want to sleep." She says.
To forget. For a second of relief.
"I'll be here when you wake up, if you want." Street responds.
When you remember it all over again.
Chris nods, eyes fluttering closed. She hears the shifting of fabric and then a heavy quilt against her bare legs. It takes the place of Street's denim, but only for a second as she reaches a hand back to throw it over him, too, needing the reminder that he's there, someone's there.
Holding in his sigh, Street looks towards the ceiling and begs exhaustion to hit him so his mind has reason to stop spinning.
Chris is the most important person in the world to him. He just wants her to be okay. To help her be okay, if he can and if she'll let him.
That doesn't make his feelings for her any less real, though, so he does his best to swallow them down for the night.
Yawns escape Chris as she tries to release the tension for her body and turn her mind off. Street squeezes her hand, setting his head just close enough to hers for its weight on the pillow and his warmth to be a comfort.
"You're not alone." He reminds her, smiling small when she mumbles that neither is he.
Emotions run through her as loud as they've been all day, but slowly her breathing evens out and she falls into a shaky sleep.
In an attempt for his own rest, Street copies her, though the closest he gets is closing his eyes and feeling her pulse under his thumbs.
It's a storm.
-x-
hello! thank you so much for reading, and i hope you enjoyed! this came about after sandyfin & i were talking about how much we didn't see in the show after Erika's death (and in general), when there's no way Street wouldn't go check on Chris that night. with lots of the Alonso family bc we also don't see enough of them imho. comments/kudos always appreciated, suggestions welcome 3 title is from Orange Juice by Noah Kahan, which i cannot recommend his music highly enough. stay liquid! xo, Allie