Chris's eyes are heavy and hard to open.
When she does manage to lift her lids, she's met with the blurry picture of blue walls and uncomfortable-looking furniture. The world comes into focus slowly.
She doesn't feel any pain because she doesn't feel anything. Like a computer being rebooted, sensation returns to her bit-by-bit. The blanket that's warm on her legs, the slight tug of the IV in her hand, and a low current of nausea that makes her groan.
"Chris?" A voice to her left asks. She doesn't have enough energy to turn and face them, but she doesn't have to when they set a gentle hand on her forehead instead, leaning over so they're in her field of vision.
Like everything else, it takes Chris a moment to recognize Street, the concern and relief written on his face. For a second the nausea fades and she's blanketed in an entirely different kind of warmth.
"You're here," she whispers, wishing she had the wherewithal to touch his face. Street smiles and starts to say something, but Chris is already sliding back into sleep.
It's easier the next time Chris wakes up. Her body feels more like her own again, thankfully, and the meds keep her floating just high enough above the edge to not feel any pain.
Having taken stock of her body, Chris's instinct kicks in and she puts the little focus she has onto the room around her. She can hear murmuring conversations over the tick of the clock above the door, and the occasional chime of a phone or shuffling of feet. Someone's hand slips into hers.
Gingerly, Chris turns her head to see who it is.
Tomas.
"Hey," Chris croaks, catching his attention and that of her Aunt and Uncle, who are on her other side. They're quick to walk around the bed, pulling up another chair and the rolling stool so she can see all of them.
Helena runs a hand down the side of Chris's face, cradling her cheek as she leans in to kiss Chris's forehead.
"How're you feeling?"
A small smile crosses Chris's face.
"Okay, no pain. I told Tomas to keep you from freaking out."
She isn't sure if it's the medicine or the realization that she survived settling on her and loosening the composure she normally holds so tight. Helena gives her a watery smile, and Sarzo chuckles softly on the other side of Tomas.
"We're always going to freak out over you, Chrissy," Sarzo tells her. "Thank you for having Deacon call, he was very calm. You've got a great team."
Chris's smile widens, her eyes fluttering closed as she thinks about when the team has met her family and how she should do something to bring them together soon.
Like they were waiting to be invited in at their mention, the door creaks open not a moment later. It's hard for Chis to hear, but someone's hushed voice reaches her.
"How's she doing?"
Sarzo replies with something else Chris doesn't catch, and it's followed by familiar footsteps getting closer.
Opening her eyes, she finds the team but struggles to stay focused on them for long. Helena looks back down at Chris, sees the softness in her niece's features, and her heart slows knowing that Chris is going to be taken care of for the night.
"You're getting discharged tomorrow?" Sarzo asks.
"Yeah," Chris says, at the same time as the team. Their voices aren't sharp, but all of them together are loud enough for her head to spark with discomfort. Guilt flashes on the team's faces, but Chris is content to let them answer for her, sure they tortured whatever poor soul was keeping them updated for as much information as possible.
"The doctor told us if all goes well tonight, they'd discharge her tomorrow afternoon." Deacon says, looking at her family with sorrow for putting Chris in a position to be hurt, and a cutting protectiveness over her now. Sarzo nods, thanks Deacon, and stands. Tomas and Helena follow.
Chris's family squeeze her hands and drop easy kisses to her hairline before filtering out, promising that they're just a phone call away in case she needs anything. Waving them off, Chris swears that she's fine, although her tone is airy, impeded, and Sarzo sets a hand on Deacon's shoulder before he walks out behind Helena and Tomas.
"Please, if anything happens, call us. Chrissy doesn't like us to be the ones taking care of her, but we want to."
Deacon nods, a knowing smile on his face. "Of course, Sarzo, drive safely."
She watches her family walk out, the team taking new positions around her as they do. Tan and Luca make quick work of pulling the couch that was against the window up to her bedside, Hondo rolling the stool next to the couch and taking a seat, and Street and Deacon taking the places of Helena and Tomas.
Her gaze travels over them, stopping at Hondo. Ever the leader, he speaks first.
"Doc said everything went great. There was a little more damage than they thought, but they were able to get you all fixed up."
Chris nods, lifting her hand enough for Hondo to get the hint and hold it warm in his.
"They say anything about work?"
Hondo's lips quirk up, the same as the rest of the team, not surprised by Chris's priorities.
"You're gonna be in a brace for a while, a lot of physical therapy. Don't worry, we'll get you back into HQ on desk duty as soon as we can, no sooner than 8 weeks."
She nods again, his words processing at half-speed.
Quick knocking on the door pulls their attention. The team recognizes the doctor who holds out a hand for Chris to shake.
"I'm Doctor Montgomery. How are you feeling, Miss Alonso?"
"Chris." She says, and then, "fine."
"Good. No pain?"
"No pain." Chris repeats, Doctor Montgomery's words forming easier in her mouth than trying to think of her own.
"Great. I'm going to have Doctor Sims check your bandages and sutures one more time for the evening, and then we'll let you get some rest."
Chris looks at Doctor Sims, who washes his hands and then looks down at Chris's legs and the group of men who surround her like a blockade.
"Guys?" Chris says, raising her eyebrows slightly at Tan and Luca until they get the hint and jump up.
"Sorry," Luca says, as quietly as he can manage. They push the couch back and Hondo stands, too, to give the Doctors space.
As soon as the blankets are off and air hits her bare skin, Chris shivers. Looking down shows her a hunk of metal on her leg, stretching from her ankle to her thigh and secured with foam straps and velcro. Dr. Sims is careful as he undoes the strap by her knee to uncover the dressing. His fingers are cold.
Chris can't see it, though the looks on Luca and Deacon's faces tell her it isn't pretty. Doctor Sims washes his hands again and whispers a few short observations to Doctor Montgomery before applying a new bandage.
"It looks great, Chris."
She exhales, glad to hear it, and they readjust the blankets and remind her to hit the call button before filing out. As they do, a nurse slides past them and into the room.
"I'm sorry, folks, but visiting hours are up. One of you is welcome to stay the night, and the rest can return in the morning."
"I'll stay," Street says, faster than he means to, but with less raised eyebrows from the team than he expects. They all know Chris would put up a fight, and this at least takes away her opportunity to do so. Gathering their belongings, they stand but linger, like they're waiting to be dragged out by their backpack straps.
"Alright, let's let Chris get some rest, everyone," Hondo says, leaning down and squeezing her shoulder.
The rest of the team follows suit, Luca and Tan giving her hugs and fist bumps and promising to be back in the morning if they don't get a call.
Deacon takes longer. Thinking about the day puts knots in his stomach, and he swallows thick after hugging her.
"If you need anything at all, Chris, don't hesitate to call. I'm so—"
With the little strength she has, Chris reaches a hand up until it lands on Deacon's forearm, stopping him.
"No apologies, remember? I'm good."
Exhaling, Deacon nods, and takes Chris's hand between his to squeeze softly before lying it back next to her.
"I'll see you in the morning."
"I'll count on it," Chris says, loud enough for the whole team to hear, and leave her with smiles.
With the door swinging shut behind them, Chris deflates some, the fatigue she was keeping at bay now spilling all over her. She doesn't realize she's closed her eyes until she hears her name and flutters them open.
"You okay, Chris?" Street asks, feeling like he can finally breathe after hours of not knowing where she was or if she was alive.
Her hair swooshes against the pillow and tangles when she nods.
"Thanks for staying."
Street gives her a small smile, desperate for the tears he feels forming not to fall. When he closes his eyes, all he sees is Chris, bloody and limping in the middle of the desert. He knows if she weren't medicated to the heavens, this conversation would go differently, but his emotions are too strong to keep in check.
"I don't think I could've left you if I tried after today, Chris," Street says, with a chuckle that's thick with tears.
Chris frowns, brows furrowing as she traces the tension in Street's face and the pain in his eyes. Her heart clenches, a ball of feelings in her stomach that she doesn't quite have it in her to untangle. Swallowing, Chris tries to think of something to say to reassure Street she's fine, though the hospital bed and leg brace scream to the contrary so she abandons the idea.
Street's just beginning to think Chris is out for the night when her soft, raspy voice reaches him.
"I was afraid of dying without getting to say goodbye to you."
It shocks him like ice water to the face. His jaw drops as he racks his brain for something to say, only to be stunned further when she speaks again, eyes unfocused on him.
"I didn't want you to blame yourself if that's what happened."
Street knows heartache like the back of his hands, but Chris's words inspire it to an entirely new depth. His world stops at just the thought. Unable to go on without touching her, he picks up her hand and holds it in both of his, pressing a gentle kiss to her bruised, scraped knuckles.
"Chris, I—" love you.
His voice cracks.
"I was so worried we weren't going to make it. When Hondo called and said you guys were missing… The last time I felt this scared was when you took that shot to the vest."
Chris's free hand instinctively rubs her torso where she remembers being hit. More bruises color the area now, more evidence of the number that the cartel members did on her.
Tears roll down Street's face and Chris shakes her hand free of his to lightly wipe them away. The ball of feeling in her stomach is still there, but everything is muddling around her. She yawns, hand falling back to her side and body settling into the thin mattress.
There's more, so much more, Street wants to say, but Chris's eyes keep closing and every time she blinks them open, he sees less of the irises he never wants to miss again. His heart is on fire with love and confusion, and, more than both of those, relief that she's in front of him.
Street wipes away the tears with the back of his and then sets one on her forehead, brushing his thumb back and forth.
"Sleep, Chris," he whispers, "I'll be right here."
He waits until he's sure she's asleep to remove his hand and get up to turn out the lights, darkness washing over the room.
thank you for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and any comments/kudos are greatly appreciated. see you soon!
xo, A
