Helena leaves that evening, just as the sun is starting to set and after more conversation with Street as Chris sleeps.

"Call us if you need anything." She tells Chris, running a hand down her face.

"I will," Chris says, "I love you."

"I love you, too, Sweetheart."

Street follows her to the door, getting a hug of his own before Helena goes into the hallway.

"Let me know how she's doing." Helena says, soft enough that Chris can't hear it. Street nods with a smile, closing the door behind her.

Chris stares at her reflection in the black of her TV, peripherally aware of Helena saying goodbye to Street. Bruises wash over her cheek and forehead in a bluish-purple, blending into her hairline. Deacon's words run through her head.

"You're lucky you're… you're not… you're not attached."

It twists her stomach into knots to think about. Chris has attachments. To the team, her family, Street. They tug at her core constantly and fill her with a need to protect all of them.

But she's apparently so good at hiding them, hiding herself from all of them, that she's become the ideal when death is pounding at the door. Cold, detached, nothing to lose when there's seemingly nothing had in the first place.

"You can't think about it." She told Deacon.

"I can't help it."

Me neither , Chris thinks. She can't help but block the images of her family and her team from her mind. If she doesn't, she'll think about what they'd do if they lost her, the same as Deacon.

And the notion that her death would mean something to them is a big, ugly, dangerous monster that Chris has no way of protecting them from.

Of defending herself from.

A hand on her shoulder startles her, head swiveling to see Street and the rest of the room coming into focus.

"Woah, sorry," he says, looking at her with concern, "I called your name and you didn't answer. Penny for your thoughts?"

Street sits, and Chris keeps her gaze on his hands resting on his knees instead of his face.

"It's nothing. Something Deac said yester— in Lankford the other day. Nothing."

His eyebrows raise as he tries to follow her choppy train of thought. Chris's hands come to her chest, wringing in a way they only do when she's anxious. In a flash, their hospital conversation and every kiss and argument they've had comes to Street's mind. He brushes it all off to move from the chair to the couch and take her hands between his, stilling them.

"Hey, okay," Street says, voice soft and even and eyes finding hers, "it's not nothing. Talk to me."

Exhaling, Chris nods as her heart slows down and her brain shifts to having a directive to follow.

"When we knew Rafa and his men were coming, Deac froze. He told me he was thinking about Annie and the kids, what they'd do if he lost them."

Street's hands are warm on hers. He hums, brows furrowing, thinking of his own locker letters.

"And then he said I was lucky that I have no attachments to anyone."

His jaw drops before he can stop it, and Chris's eyes drop from his to her lap. Shaking off his disbelief and quelling the spark of anger, Street clears his throat.

"What did you say?"

"That I don't know about that. I do have attachments." Chris says, brown eyes wide on his and tone like she's trying to convince him. Squeezing her hands, Street says he knows she does.

"I can't lose you, either," reverberates in his mind.

"I'm sorry he said that." Street tells Chris, garnering a shrug as all the things she could say swim around her head.

"Our definitions of family are different, I guess." Chris says, not wanting to be backed into a corner she's not ready to shine that bright of a light on.

Nodding, Street takes a measured breath. He wants to tell Chris that Deacon probably didn't mean it, was too wound up with the imminent stress and just needed some kind of control, but it came at Chris's expense and Street's lips stay closed.

"Family can mean a lot of different things." Street assures, pulling a small smile from her.

"Yeah. Thanks, Street." Street grins and lets Chris have her hands back.


Three days pass like a groundhog day loop. Chris wakes up, crutches around her apartment, wishes she could take a real shower, and lets Street or her family or whoever from the team is there bring her whatever she asks for because it's a bitch to try to do it herself.

"How's Miguel doing?" Chris asks Deacon when he comes over that night, guilt still strewn across his face that she was with him a week ago.

"Good, I've heard. He's working with authorities and getting situated in Vegas with his wife and daughter."

Smiling, Chris says that's good, and thanks Street when he hands her water and then sits in the adjacent chair.

"How are you doing?" Deacon asks her, getting a shrug.

"First check-up is tomorrow and they're taking the stitches out. I've never been so excited to take a real shower in my life."

"I can imagine," Deacon says. "Annie and the kids say hello, too, she asked for an update after your appointment."

A sting of pain hits Chris in the stomach, gone as quick as it came, at the mention of his family. Chris nods, hoping it covers it up, but she can feel Street's eyes on her.

"I'll make sure to text her."


Deacon leaves an hour later when Chris can no longer hold in her yawns. She watches him leave and then watches Street walk back into the living room, speaking as soon as he sits.

"We need to talk."

It catches him off guard like an unseen spill. Recovering from his shock, he asks her about what.

"After my appointment tomorrow, you're going back to work, and I appreciate that you've stayed, but I'm not asking you to live here for the next 7 weeks."

It's gone unsaid thus far, him sleeping in her guest room and existing in her apartment like he's meant to be there, but all Chris wants to return to is some sense of normalcy. Street sighs.

"Feelings aside, Chris, you shouldn't be living alone right now."

"I'll be fine. You'll be at work during the day, anyway, and my family said they'd come by a few times a week or if I need something."

"And at night? Or if something happens and you don't have your phone?"

Street's concern for her is as sweet as it is annoying, and Chris grits her teeth.

"Nothing is going to happen." She assures him.

"And if I need something at night, I'll call someone. I'll call you first, if you want."

Street wants to put up more of a fight. Wants to tell her she's being ridiculous and that, if she were in his position with anyone else, she'd be insisting on staying overnight for however long it was necessary.

(That he can't help how easy it was to settle into her space, and now the thought of leaving sticks uncomfortably in his chest.)

But that'll only make Chris shut down further and push him out sooner, so he takes the concession that he'll be her first call, and nods.

"Okay. Just be careful, please?" Street asks, eyes as deep as the ocean, with a look in them she's only ever seen him give her.

Softening, Chris promises that she will.

"I'm not doing anything that would jeopardize getting back to work as soon as possible."


Chris takes controlled inhales and exhales as her and Street enter the office for her check-up. Her hands are sweaty with anxiety, making her wish there were towels around that part of her crutches, too. After checking in, they take a seat in the hard waiting room chairs. Moving another chair to prop her leg up, Street gives her a look when Chris says it's unnecessary.

"Humor me?"

She rolls her eyes, but does. With the iciness of the office from the air conditioning and her crutches leaning against the wall, there's nothing Chris can do but close her eyes and wait to be called.

"It's gonna be okay," Street assures her, a hand on her forearm where she grips the armrest. "Just think of getting back to your apartment and being able to take a hot shower."

The corners of Chris's mouth quirk up against her will. She takes another breath.

"Christina?"

Opening her eyes, Chris looks around, scanning over the few other patients in the room and the nurse standing in the doorway in green scrubs. Everyone else staying seated, Chris reaches for her crutches as the nurse looks at her with measured compassion.

Through the doorway, Chris sees past the woman to a series of exam rooms and signs for X-Rays and physical therapy. Shivering, she realizes she doesn't feel Street behind her, and finds him sitting after sliding the other chair back where it was.

"You coming?" Chris asks. Surprise flashes across Street's face, and a warmth creeps up his neck when he stands and puts his phone in his pocket, following.


"I told you it would be fine." Street says, smiling at Chris in the rearview mirror of the charger. Stitches out and x-rays "progressing well," she feels one step closer to getting back to work, some weight off her shoulders.

"Thanks for driving me."

She misses his nod, pulling out the shiny new phone Deacon gave her last night to replace hers. Texting the team and her family, Chris leans her head against the window while Street navigates the midday traffic back to her apartment.

Street walks behind her as they go from the parking lot to the elevator. As elated as he is that she's healing, his mind starts to spin over packing up the small duffel bag he brought and leaving her alone.

Chris doesn't seem to have the same worries. She tosses the condensed packet of exercises onto the counter and announces that she's taking a shower, leaving him alone in the living room.

Steam is already beginning to fill the bathroom and Chris has just finished taking her brace off when she realizes the edge of her bathtub is too high for her to step over without putting weight on her bad leg. For a second, she considers trying to maneuver herself with the crutches, but how bad of an idea that is comes as quick as the idea itself.

Sighing, Chris turns off the shower, ties her robe, and grabs her crutches until she can open the bathroom door.

"Street?" She shouts, and hears his footsteps not a second later.

"What's up?" He asks, appearing in her vision and looking at her, confused and concerned.

Slowly, Chris turns and moves a few feet back so Street can step into the bathroom. His eyes go to her brace on the ground and the dripping shower faucet before finding hers again.

"I can't step over the edge without putting weight on my leg. The toilet's too far to sit on it and pull myself up."

Street processes for a moment, understanding dawning on him. He looks at her tub and the space of the bathroom, figuring out the best place to put everything for when she's done, and then slides the shower curtain all the way to the other side.

"C'mere."

Standing, Chris sets her crutches right outside the tub, and hooks her right arm around Street. His wraps around her back, fingers splayed over her ribs and his other hand holding hers at his shoulder.

Pressing against Chris as she presses against him, Street counts to three and lifts the body weight that Chris can't support until she's safely on the bathtub floor. Chris lets out a heavy exhale, her side still sore, and carefully turns around to thank him.

"Holler when you're done." Street says, Chris nodding in return.

She waits until she hears the click of the door closing to undo her robe and toss it across the lid of the toilet. Towels and crutches within reach, Chris turns the water on, glad when it's heated enough to not come out shocking.

The relief Chris feels to have autonomy over her own body again is indescribable. Even as she measures her every move to not slip or accidentally bend her bad leg, the water running over her cleans away more than just the morning. She savors the way it touches her nerves and relaxes her muscles. Done, she stands in the shower until it starts to go cold.

"Street!" Chris calls again once she's dry enough to put the robe back on.

Knocking on the door, Street enters and easily gets her back onto the bathroom tile.

"Need anything else?" He checks before he goes, just in case.

"No, thanks. I'll be out in a few minutes."


"I was thinking," Chris starts as she comes to the end of the hallway. Street stands at her fridge, eyeing the containers from Helena and the team and debating between them, and looks up at the sound of her voice.

"Hmm?" He asks, eyes wide.

Sighing, Chris moves closer, stopping at the end of the island when she gets winded.

"I said, I was thinking. It might be a good idea, if you're okay with it, for you to stay a little while longer?"

An uncontrollably wide smile starts to light up Street's face, and Chris continues in order to temper it.

" Just until I can put enough weight on my leg to do everything I need."

There's nothing she needs to do that requires her leg besides shower, her apartment otherwise perfectly suited for the next five to seven weeks of recovery, but neither say that.

She's not sure why she asks Street to stay. Chris tells herself it's because there's enough of an injury risk that even she needs to accept that and have someone else there, but she knows any of her family would come stay, no questions asked.

Shaking off the image of his duffel bag packed by the guest room door and the inexplicable weight that filled her with, Chris takes a seat on the couch and turns on the TV for a distraction.

Ten minutes later, she's startled out of the home-flipping show she was engrossed in by a gentle nudge on her shoulder. Looking up at him, Street sets down a plate of lasagna and a glass of water for her before going back for his own and getting comfortable in the chair.

"I can't believe you really like this stuff." He comments when Chris is glued back to the show. Shrugging, she takes a sip of her water.

"My uncle owns a construction company. I've spent years helping do remodels around the house. Besides, you could learn a thing or two, from what I remember of getting yours and Luca's house back into livable conditions."

Her teasing smile sends electricity through him, and he forfeits the argument.

"Touché, Chris."


hello! thank you so much for continuing to read, i hope you enjoyed! i started writing this partially bc i had my own knee surgery and i wanted to explore those feelings as well as the rest of it all. today's the 9 year anniversary of that surgery, so i figured an update was due lol. all comments/kudos are appreciated! i truly hope everyone likes reading this as much as i love writing it. it was supposed to be like 5 chapters max and now here we are, far from the finish line. but we'll get there! stay liquid! xo, A