TW: Discussion of past sexual assault, violence against women.
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The news of the mass shooting makes Chris mind up for her. It's not the weight of her past falling away, but knowing that she can help change the curve of the future that does it, and a rush of energy runs through her when Lynch tells her it's not too late for the interview.
The reporter tells her the article will be out in the Friday issue, and all Chris hears is that she has two days to figure out how to tell the team before they see her story splashed in ink. Chris hasn't told anyone what happened, aside from Lynch, in the four years since telling her family.
She remembers Helena and Sarzo's confused stares and the pain in their eyes as they wrapped their heads around what she kept hidden for so long. Her own wringing hands and bitten lip as she watched them process. The aftermath where she could tell they had questions, why didn't you tell us, and are you okay, that they were too afraid to voice in the fragility of the moment, and that Chris didn't have answers for, anyway.
Her mind is reeling. Telling her family was one thing—they'll love her unconditionally—but the team feels like another matter, and she forces herself not to think about SWAT as a whole for her own sake.
The realization settles on her like most things these days: heavy and undeniable.
There's one person who'll help her figure out how to tell the rest of the team. Who will assuage her fears and promise that they won't treat her any different, and she won't doubt that he's lying.
Busy? She texts, Street's response reaching her in less than a minute.
Nope.
Be over in an hour and a half? Beers on me.
Door's unlocked.
Nerves flood her stomach. Before she can let them get ahead of her, Chris is collecting her backpack and keys and leaving HQ without a second glance.
The sun is just beginning to set as she pulls up to Street and Luca's house. Fifteen minutes later than she planned, because Helena caught a glimpse of the purple bloom on Chris's face as she went to shower, and Chris had to reassure Helena she was fine twice before Helena would let her shower and twice more before she'd let Chris leave the house.
The shower helped wash away some of Chris's tension from the day, the anger that threatened to swallow her whole. Hondo's words reverberated in her head as the stream came down on her.
Things are changing for the better. Even when it doesn't feel like it. Even when it feels like the other side is winning. Things are changing.
Exhaling, Chris's eyes run side-to-side over the house. The front blinds are open enough for her to see Street inside on the couch, and though Luca is nowhere to be found, his car's in the driveway.
Anxiety falls into Chris's stomach like a rock. Her nerves from earlier have returned in full-force, and the 6-pack is heavier in her hand than it was in the store. Every instinct is telling her to let the beer shatter on the cement, get back in her truck, and drive until the sunset doesn't blind her and her ribs don't feel like they're squeezing her lungs so hard she can't breathe.
But thinking of the reporter and the article and Friday afternoon brings reality back to the front of her mind. Breathing in deeply, Chris white-knuckles the cardboard handle and walks up the driveway. When she knocks, she hopes it doesn't sound as frantic and disjointed as she feels.
Street's on his feet and at the door, rolling his eyes when he looks through the peephole.
"You can just walk in without knocking, you know." He says as Chris brushes past him and stands in the entryway. "Duke's not that much of a guard dog."
Street turns from the door smiles at her, dimples shining, and Chris returns it but looks down quickly as Duke bounds through the hallway.
"Is Luca here?" Chris asks, looking up but not meeting Street's eyes.
"No, him and his brother went out for dinner. Some place in K-Town, I guess. Is everything okay? I know the past few days have been…"
Street trails off, not quite sure how to put what's happened into words, especially when Chris knows far better than he ever will. She nods her understanding.
"Do you mind if we sit outside?"
Eyes meeting, Street reads apprehension behind Chris's pupils, an uncharacteristic shakiness to her that puts a knot in his stomach. Gesturing towards the sliding glass door, Chris slides past him and into the backyard. The sunset washes everything in a golden glow, and her feet find their way to the picnic table out of muscle memory. Duke follows, lumbering out and plopping next to a stick that he starts chewing.
From the doorway, Street takes a second to let his gaze rest on Chris, perched on top of the table. There's a pulling in his stomach, different from any anxiety. A kind of hunger he doesn't feel often and he's never felt with Molly, and seeing Chris at the picnic table where they kissed only makes it stronger and louder.
Swallowing, Street pushes those thoughts aside and shakes them out. There's just enough chill in the air to make him shiver, and as soon as he sits, Chris is handing him a bottle with the top popped off.
"So," he starts, too much energy to sit in silence next to her where it will keep building, "what's up?"
Chris sips her beer. She lets it sit on her tongue and coat her mouth before she swallows, like it will make what she's planning to tell him less real. His words garner a side-eye from her, not helping ease her anxiety.
She doesn't answer for a minute. Sits and basks in the last minute of the before. Chris feels like she's skydiving and she doesn't know if she has a parachute, the tiny, nagging fear that he will look at her differently impossible to shut out completely.
"You know I did that interview?" Chris asks, followed by another sip.
Street nudges her lightly, a light laugh escaping him.
"I heard. I'm surprised you let yourself be the center of attention for once."
Chris doesn't rise to his remark. Reality weighs severe on her heart. She studies the blades of grass and feels her ribs squeeze her tighter.
Her body language is undeniable and Street knows he misstepped the second the words are floating around them. Keeping his mouth shut, he waits for everything to settle. Chris does, too, before speaking.
"I need to tell you something. Something that I told that reporter when she asked why I became a cop."
Insecurity drips off her words, hunched shoulders and downcast gaze all too much for Street to process.
His hand rests on her shoulder, and when she doesn't look up, he leans down. Her hands are tight around the beer bottle, muscles flexing, and Street squeezes her gently.
"Whatever you need, Chris, I'm here for you. We'll figure this out, I promise."
Chris tucks her hair behind her ear. When she looks at him, all she sees is earnest care, and it rounds off some of her edges in a way she didn't think was possible before she met him.
Sitting up, Chris finishes her beer and sets the bottle next to her. Her gaze is fixed on the sunset she can still see over their fence, and Street's hand runs down her arm to rest on his lap, letting their shoulders brush.
Chris closes her eyes. She scans her body from her feet through the crown of her head, shaky exhales dotting every few seconds. Before she opens her eyes, her hands take one of Street's, holding it tightly to ground herself.
"They asked me why I became a cop," Chris starts, looking out over the backyard, a pained harshness in her tone.
"When I was fourteen, a group of gang members attacked me while I was walking to the gas station."
Street's sharp inhale cuts through her and makes Chris bite her lip. Risking a glance at him reveals anger, betrayed in the clench of his jaw, but the same concern in his eyes she caught hints of for the past two days.
"They thought I was another girl. I was raped. For hours, until they realized I wasn't who they wanted."
Chris feels a tear start to make its way down her cheek and she takes one of her hands off his to wipe it away.
She didn't cry when she told her family. It was like there was an invisible force keeping her from feeling the truth again, knowing that she was inflicting a minute fraction of it onto her loved ones and wanting to protect them from it. Her Aunt and Uncle cried, and Chris hugged them tight and said she was okay now. The tears she could feel at the back of her eyes wouldn't dare to fall.
Telling Lynch was a split-second decision, and Chris's driving force for the interview was to help make any positive change she could.
But telling Street feels like a confession, like taking an almost 20-year-old weight and smashing it against the concrete and showing someone a picture of her that's become so distorted in her own mind, only their fresh eyes can make it out.
Beside her, Street keeps his breathing even and his eyes on her profile. Everything he's ever learned about Chris is that she's a survivor. That she's used to "fighting tooth and nail just to hold onto the few scraps she has," she once told him.
She squeezes his hand, bringing him out of his thoughts about her.
"I didn't tell anyone or report it. My mom died like six months earlier. All I wanted to do was forget and move on. But I was so scared all the time."
More tears flood her eyes, and Chris looks up at the darkening sky to try to blink them away. Gently, Street pulls his hand from hers to put it back on her shoulder, reaching across his lap with the other so Chris can find purchase on it. He watches the rise and fall of her chest, and within, Chris feels her heart beat steadily. It takes another minute of long breaths and slotting her fingers through Street's until she can speak again.
"I got tired of being scared. That's why I became a cop. So that I wouldn't be scared ever again, and so that, if there was another kid out there who something happened to, I could help them, make whoever hurt them pay in a way that the men who attacked me never did."
Street's voice breaks through at the end of hers, soft as summer rain.
"You told the reporter your story."
Nodding, Chris wipes her cheeks again and looks at Street.
"I told my family a few years ago. No one on the team knows besides you."
The weight of Chris's words settle on Street before he knows how to respond. A quiet "oh," leaves him, his brain processing everything almost in slow-motion.
No one else on the team knows besides him.
No one else on the team knows.
"You want to tell the rest of the team before the article comes out." Street says, though it's half a question.
"Yeah," Chris nods, "and I know they're amazing and none of them doubt my position, but…"
Silence hangs between them, only broken by the occasional snap of Duke's stick. Chris realizes she's still got a hold on Street's hand, and without looking at him, decides she doesn't want to let go yet.
"That website. Those men with all their anger. Maybe they're not all acting on it, but there are a lot of men that are, and a lot of men with enough power they wield over other men to hurt more women. The gang leader wasn't there at first, the one who ordered it all. He came hours later and realized I wasn't who he was looking for and let me go, not without his own—" Chris stops, her head and her heart both skipping like a record.
"Hondo said things are changing, and I want to believe that's true. I hope that this article inspires a lot of young girls, kids out there, and me telling the truth is only a small part of what I said, but there's no guarantee that I walk into HQ on Saturday and things aren't different."
So much doubt sits behind Chris's eyes, and Street's heart aches for her. He keeps grazing his thumb over her shoulder, trying to give her some comfort while his brain spins for something to say.
Street starts a moment later, tone sincere, "Thank you for telling me. I'm sorry you went through that."
Chris nods, lips pressed tightly together. She's falling through the air, feeling it rush past her and through her, and she just hopes that the faith she put in Street comes through for her.
He's cautious as he speaks, squeezing her hand.
"Things might be different at HQ."
His words are harsh, but his voice is soft, and Chris appreciates his honesty.
"But things on 20 Squad won't be." Street finishes without a trace of hesitation.
Looking Chris over, he traces the curve of her shoulders and the bend of her knees over the edge of the table.
Street remembers when he first joined SWAT and made passes at her all the time. Remembers her asking him to stop and how much he felt like a jackass when Tan explained what he'd seen and overheard people say about Chris, and that it took Tan in addition to Chris to make him realize. It pangs his heart again now, but Street brushes it away because the last thing she needs is to make him feel better about something they've long buried.
The passes, at least. Their shared lingering glances and the way their bodies relax when the other walks into the room are something they continue to ignore.
His eyes coming back into focus on her sneakers, Street sighs. The image of her in his mind changes.
"You're an incredible cop, Chris. When I was on that Richter case a few years back, I remember looking up and seeing you and thinking 'thank God,' because if there was anyone who would make sure I lived, it was you. Not to mention you're the best sniper on SWAT and amazing at talking with people in the community— treating 'em like family, like Hondo says."
The thought sits in Street's throat, unsure of if he wants to say it, but then her fingers flex in his and the words are pouring out like a rainstorm in April.
"What happened to you is part of who you are, a big part of why you became a cop, but everything you've done, every ceiling you've broken and every person you've helped, that's just who you are, Chris. The team knows that, knows you, and telling them your story isn't going to take that away. You make us better. You have our six. Trust me when I say that we've got yours, too."
A parachute. A safety net. Street's hand in hers and his voice warm in her ear as he looks at her intensely, but exactly like he always has.
Before she can stop, Chris propels herself forward and flings her arms around Street's torso. It takes him a second to process, but when he unfreezes he wraps himself around her just as tight, one hand between her shoulder blades and the other cradling the back of her head.
Memories come back to Chris. Of lying in bed alone that summer, losing days at a time to whatever mystery sickness her Aunt chalked it up to. How all Chris wanted was for someone to come in and lie down next to her and tuck her in their arms to tell her she was safe and going to be okay.
And now, Street's so steady beneath her, arms around her, it cracks the wall for more tears to roll down her face. They hang on her lashes before soaking into his shirt. She murmurs a "thank you," through them, and he holds her closer.
Chris feels Street's nod against her head. She stays where she is as the anxiety drains a way, the mountain of a problem in front of her now something she can just start to see the top of. Once her breathing is even she lets her arms fall away from him, though she stays close.
"Do you think after drills tomorrow is a good time?" Chris asks, part of her knowing it's the best time but wanting some reassurance. Squinting, she can see Street piecing together tomorrow's schedule in his mind. Satisfied, he gives her a small nod.
"Yeah."
Exhaling, Chris says 'okay,' mostly to herself, and turns to look out. The sun has long set, leaving everything in a quickly-fading twilight. A shiver runs through her, just obvious enough for Street to ask if she's okay.
"Just a chill," she says, face turning to him.
His fingers twitch, wanting to leave the old, grainy wood and come to rest on her cheek instead where bruising has marred it. Suppressing the instinct, Street looks over to where Duke is, half asleep, and then back at Chris.
"You wanna head inside? We can talk more, if you want, and I've got leftovers from the other night I can heat up.
Thinking it over, Chris nods. There's nowhere else she needs to be and sitting alone in her family's garage will only give her more time to think. She slides off the table in one swift motion, Duke's head picking up at the sound of boots on grass and empty bottles clinking.
Street walks ahead of her, bottles in hand. He hooks a finger around the door handle to slide it open, letting Duke push through his legs to go first.
Before he steps over the threshold, Street turns to look at her. The darkness makes some of her features hard to see, even with the string lights Luca hung haphazardly, but he sees her, and that's enough. He speaks like it needs to be said while they're still outside, while the moment is still alive like a small flame protected from the wind.
With a small, sure smile and sparkling eyes, Street opens his mouth.
"It'll be all right, Chris. Nothing's changing with us, I promise."
The words settle on her, and her own gaze falls back to the picnic table for a moment before meeting his again.
"Nothing's changing." Chris agrees, following as Street steps into the kitchen, and sliding the glass door closed behind them.
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Hello! Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! I know this one is quite heavy, so I appreciate everyone who took the time to read that was able to 3. If there are any episode/scene continuations you want to see, please let me know- 6x22 has been added to the list! Thank you for any and all kudos and comments. Come say hi on tumblr streakyglasses. Stay liquid! 3 Xo, Allie