Chris wakes up on May 19th with a lead weight on her chest that's almost too heavy to sit up underneath. It's like, even as her brain takes a moment to come to the full realization of what day it is, her body got there without her overnight and has already settled into every terrible sensation.
On second thought, she's sure the weight has been there since her 34th birthday. It's been getting heavier ounce-by-ounce, and today the rest of it, in its bone-crushing entirety, has dropped on her in one fell swoop.
Swallowing, she takes a deep breath and sits up, wincing when both the expansion of her ribs and her body moving cause a sharp pain that cuts deep into her chest. Each step sending a shockwave through her, she slowly gets to the bathroom, fingers gripping the counter as she ignores the mirror completely and turns the water as hot as it will go. Memories start to come to her that only add to the heaviness on her shoulders: the feel of a wooden bench underneath her, the sound of two police officers laughing, the tears on her Uncle Sarzo's face when he walked out of the station with her.
She finishes in the shower as fast as she can, desperate to get out of her apartment and in front of the punching bag at HQ. Not bothering with drying her hair or putting on any makeup, too afraid of the face that will be staring back at her if she looks in the mirror, she pulls on the first thing she grabs from her drawers. Her apartment is dark, the sun just starting to rise, as she slams the door shut and steps into the cool morning air.
The rest of 20-David is also trickling in when Chris arrives, coffees in hand and backpacks slung over shoulders. She changes as quickly as she can, conversations around her about the Kay kids and Luca's newest date fading into the background and becoming nothing short of overwhelming if she doesn't remind herself to breathe.
She shuts her locker with more of a slam than she intends, and tosses a small, apologetic smile over her shoulder to the team that she hopes isn't as pained as it feels.
Unable to give her mind a second of free time, she pours herself into their training, blaming the extra water breaks to catch her breath on the first LA heat wave instead of the claws of the past sinking deeper into her with every passing minute. Their lingering gazes of concern aren't lost on her, notably Street's, but the topic of mothers has lain blissfully dormant since Karen's funeral, and Chris doesn't want to disturb that.
It takes all of her energy to pay attention to Hondo's directions and not lose focus when she's in the ring with Tan, but the hours of physical training give her body enough to do that it has no choice but to throw the emotional weight to the side. She keeps finding things to look at—the large letters and numbers painted on the wall, the clock in the corner, the movement of the heavyweight bag—to keep her mind in check.
"Alright!" Hondo calls, Chris pushing herself to the point of exhaustion on the air bike, "We're done! Everyone eat and get changed, and meet on the training course in an hour."
Through their heavy recovery breaths and wiping the sweat off their brows, the team nods at him and collects their workout bags, heading towards the locker room.
"You're not gonna eat with us, Chris?" Deacon asks, voice bouncing off the metal locker doors, when she grabs her shower bag. "Luca's got leftovers from the food truck?"
"Nah, I'm not hungry." she says, still struggling to catch the tail end of her breath. She turns to the showers without another word, Street shrugging at the questioning look Deacon gives him.
As they start to leave for the kitchen, Chris's phone rings, and Tan can just see through the slats that it's Uncle Sarzo.
"I'm sure she'll see it." Street comments, the thought of food overpowering the thought of interrupting Chris's shower.
Clean once more, Chris pulls on her work clothes and laces her boots. She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror, but all she can see is her mom.
The one lasting physical reminder she has of her mother is herself, her genes making her look nearly identical to the point that people would comment on it constantly when she was younger. A shiver runs through her at the memory of drunk men's leering eyes at her mom's funeral, gazes dragging between her young body and the photo of her mother surrounded by flowers. Stopping, she bites the inside of her cheek and turns to the mirror completely to face her past.
She looks younger than her mom did at this age. Her skin isn't marred with smoker's wrinkles around her lips or deep bags that seem to get darker every day. Alcohol hasn't dulled her skin or made her cheeks puffy. She has none of the heavy eye makeup or pink lipstick that were her mother's signature.
Chris looks healthy in a way she doesn't remember her mom ever looking.
Tears build along her lash line at the thought, and she wipes them away with the back of her hand before they can fall, her eyes finding the fluorescent overhead lights to dry up what's left. Clearing her throat, she grabs her phone from her locker and swipes away the missed phone call, head down as she walks to the kitchen.
Her SWAT phone goes off the second she opens the door. Wincing through another inhale, Chris easily catches the protein bar Tan tosses her, too nauseous to consider eating it so she shoves it into her pocket. She keys them all into the Eagle's Nest.
"Hostage situation at a local YMCA." Hondo tells them. "We're not sure what the motive is yet, but there are a lot of kids in that building that we need to get out safely. Get Betty ready, and blueprints are loaded up for us to look over on the way. Hicks is already on his way with Mobile Command."
The direct order is easy enough for her to follow, though uncontrollable anxiety builds in the back of her mind, coming to a head when she's back in the locker room.
Hostage situations are always touch-and-go. If this goes sideways, she could die today. It's a heavier thought than it's ever been or ever will be, Chris bracing herself on the wall as her breath forces itself out of her lungs in a painful wheeze.
"Woah, Chris, are you okay?" Street asks, a hand hovering over the small of her back. She glances through her hair that's come loose at the world around them, relieves when he's the only one here to witness whatever's happening.
"I'm fine." She assures him, straightening up and pressing her lips into an unconvincing smile. Narrowing his eyes, he searches her face in hopes of finding an in to what's wrong, but he's cut short by Tan yelling at them that it's go time.
Piled into Betty, Chris closes her eyes to focus on her breathing. Hondo looks her over and asks if she's alright, to which she gives him a curt nod.
"Ready to go, Boss."
"Alright, good. Hicks just got more intel from dispatch. It looks like our suspect is Maria Rodgers. She's about to lose custody of her 4-year-old daughter, Sophia."
"Why is she losing custody?" Deacon asks.
"Maria was just charged with her third DUI in 4 months. When the cops pulled her over, Sophia was in the car. She's been staying with her relatives since then as the court gets moving. They brought her to her gymnastics class today to keep her in a routine."
Chris can hear the tension in Hondo's voice but she doesn't dare open her eyes with how it feels like her body is being ripped in two from the inside out. Tan's voice doesn't do much to slow it down.
"She's holding the class hostage and demanding her daughter back?"
"Yeah," Hondo confirms. "Which hopefully means we can de-escalate quickly and get her and everyone else out of there safely. But our priority is Sophia and the other children. We got it?"
"Got it." The team echoes.
"Good. When we pull up, Tan, you get an exact reading on how many are in the building. You, Luca, and I will enter from the 2 side. Deacon and Street, blueprints show backdoor access on the 1 side that you'll cover. Chris, I need you to post up to take the shot if we need it. But be ready to move to follow Maria. The rest of us will go in with nonlethals until we need something else."
"I can talk her down." Chris says, voice surprisingly steady in her own ears. Everyone's eyes dart to hers, even Luca's in the rearview mirror. Worry sits on Street's face where he stares at her profile.
"Chris," Hondo starts. Shaking her head, she interrupts, more determination in her tone.
"Maria's made bad mistakes, but she wouldn't be doing this if she didn't love her daughter. She's scared that she's being taken away permanently. The best thing we can do to calm her down is tell her there's still hope for her to have a relationship with her daughter, to get her help. I'll set the shot, but give me the phone."
Chris refuses to break eye contact with Hondo, refuses to blink first, and clenches her jaw harder. Luca announces that they're two minutes out, and Hondo nods.
"Get it from Hicks at Mobile Command before you set up."
Nodding, Chris feels her heart start to beat hard against her sternum like it's trying to break through it. She takes a deep breath as Luca pulls to a halt outside a large brick building. Unis and news crews are already swarming the scene.
The team splits and she gets the phone from Hicks, the look on his face a clear indication that she's on a short leash. She stuffs it into her pocket and lets the team know once she's set across the way, able to see Maria and the group of hostages through large glass windows. The sight of kids huddled in the corner makes her stomach turn, and she thinks of Champ.
"20-David, make the call, 24-David."
Steeling her burning nerves, Chris dials the YMCA's number. Deacon reports that they can hear the line ringing, telling her to try again when Maria doesn't answer the first time.
"24-David, Maria's moving towards the phone." She says to her com, her blood turning to ice in her veins.
"He-hello? Who is this?" Maria asks. Chris hears how her voice shakes and squeezes her eyes shut for a moment.
"Maria? My name is Christina. I'm LAPD SWAT. I'm here to talk to you."
"I want my daughter back!" Maria screams. Watching as the hostages shrink back and tears start to fall rapidly down their faces, Chris knows she has to work fast against her own clock.
"I know you do." She assures Maria. "That's what we want, too. To get you and everyone else out safely so you can get the help you need and get Sophia back."
A short-lived sense of accomplishment settles on her when Maria's hand drops to her side so the gun isn't pointed at anyone anymore. Maria's voice thickens.
"I'm not a bad mother."
It's a million needles on every one of Chris's nerves, her stomach turning to concrete as she reminds herself that Maria isn't her mother.
"I know," she says, the words acid in her mouth. "You love Sophia. Tell me about her."
Chris's eyes survey the scene through the scope of her HK. She follows Maria's soft smile to a little girl tucked between two adults, her dark hair in a long braid.
"She's perfect." Maria starts. "Her favorite color is blue, and she just learned how to do a handstand. When she grows up, she wants to be a chef."
Unable to stop her smile even as the words rain down on her like bullets, Chris nods as if Maria can see her.
"She sounds like an amazing girl."
"She is!" Maria says, quicker and louder. "She saved my life. But this past year I lost my job, and then my husband left and we had to move into an apartment. All the stress, I—And now they're trying to take her from me!"
She waves the gun around, landing it on someone Chris can only assume is a relative.
"Maria, Maria," she says in as soothing a tone as she can pull from within herself. "I need you to put the gun back down. That's a stressful year."
"The drinking's a problem, I know," Maria pleads. "It's just the only thing that I have, the only thing except Sophia!"
"We can get you help, Maria," she promises. "I can tell how much you love your daughter, more than alcohol. Am I right?"
Through the glass, Chris sees Maria nod furiously.
"Yes! But drinking, it takes the edge off. I never wanted her to get hurt because of it."
The exhaustion in Maria's voice is a lead blanket laid over her, each breath harder than the previous. Still, she continues.
"I know. But I also know that you're strong enough to get through this. The first step in that is letting Sophia and everyone else go so she can be safe. Then we can help you get help. Can you do that for me?"
A broken sob spills out from Maria that Chris wants to let break her, too. Her pulse races as she watches Maria consider her words, exhaling when she nods again, smaller this time.
"Yeah. I just want my baby safe so I can get her back. I never want to lose her."
"She'll be safe," Chris says. "I'm going to have two of my team open the back door and come in to escort everyone else out. I need you to put the gun on the ground and face the wall before that happens."
Maria moves in slow-motion. Chris's eyes track her as she leans down and sets the gun on the gym floor. Shoulders falling a centimeter, she presses her com.
"24-David, Maria's gun is on the ground. I repeat, Maria is unarmed, she's against the 2-side wall. Deac, Street, you're clear to enter and escort everyone."
"Roger."
"Okay, Maria, you're doing great. My team's going to enter now."
Chris feels rage bubble up again when she sees the kids, some behind parents' legs and others buried in their arms, leave. Fire burns in her core hotter than anything she's felt in a long time.
"30-David, hostages are secure."
Swallowing it back, Chris brings the phone to her ear.
"Thank you, Maria. Sophia and all the other kids are safe. The rest of my team is going to enter and secure the weapon."
As soon as she's done, Hondo busts through the gym door with Tan and Luca in tow. Luca keeps his gun trained on Maria while Hondo cuffs her and Tan disengages the weapon. It's all Chris can do not to puke over the ledge she's perched on when she hangs up.
"20-David, we are code 4. Suspect is secure. I repeat, suspect is secure."
It's a relief that fizzles out on Chris as quickly as an old firework. Consumed by pain once more, each step back to Mobile Command is heavier than the last, and Hicks' proud smile does nothing to ease her. Slinging her gun over her shoulder, she sees Maria being put into the back of a car. The urge to scream at her fills her, but she clenches her fists instead.
She doesn't know if it's because she's angry that Maria put her own daughter and so many others in danger, or because she knows her own mother would've never even considered her before alcohol. A misguided fight is still a fight, at least.
She tries to shake it all off but it's impossible. Her mother's scratchy yelling reverberates in her mind as memories, the few good mixed in with a million bad, play like a movie she has no choice but to watch. If it weren't for Tan clapping her on the shoulder and telling her good job, Chris is sure she'd have been stuck where she was forever.
Getting back into Betty takes every last ounce of energy she has. She focuses her whole body on taking regular breaths as opposed to the shallow ones, the only ones that don't hurt, and keeping her eyes open.
The only solace she has is knowing that she's alive, and so is everyone else.
Once they're back at HQ, shift officially over and with orders to get a good night's rest, Chris doesn't know what to do with herself. The notification of the missed call is like a monster waiting for her around every corner, and her body revolts against every move she makes.
Every piece of the world has warped into some hellish middle ground between where Chris is right now and where she was 21 years ago. The realization that, as of tomorrow, she'll have lived longer than her mother hangs over her like a threat. She always thought it would feel like a promise.
"Chris?" Street says, the locker room door closing behind him. "How come you're still here?"
"How come you are?" She deflects, voice hoarse as her head starts to pound.
"I had to finish up in the armory. Do you wanna grab food?" Street tries, seeing right through her but not wanting to force her into a corner. "Or, Luca and I have the game recorded if you want to come over."
Her neck is stiff when she shakes her head no.
"Not hungry. Thanks," Chris says as she stands. Shaking hands reach into her locker for her backpack and keys, the edges of her vision hazy.
"Okay," Street lets it go. "I was able to talk to Sophia's grandmother. She sends you her thanks for keeping both Maria and Sophia safe."
"It was nothing. Doing my job."
Street rolls his eyes, Chris missing it, and says it was more than that.
"I don't think I could've connected with Maria like that and talked her down. You kept her alive to give her a second shot with her daughter. That's big."
She knows he's trying to help, but she slams her locker closed for the second time today, the noise making her wince.
"I didn't do it for her. She doesn't deserve that little girl." Chris grits out. He blanches, his heart skipping a beat as he notices her breathing get faster, shallower.
"You said yourself that Maria loves Sophia enough to fight for her, to get better."
"That doesn't mean I was right." Chris scoffs, and then gets quieter, "I guess we'll see in a few years."
Fully prepared to leave, she tries to step around him but he blocks her path. The sudden stop makes the world spin underneath her feet.
"Hey, talk to me. You're never this cynical."
His concern grates on her, more when he keeps talking.
"Maria's family seems supportive, as much as they can be, and she wants to turn her life around. You'd normally tell me that's all we can hope for on days like today."
Nerves lighting up, Chris feels herself gearing up for a fight. Her backpack slides off her shoulders, eyes ablaze when she meets Street's.
"I don't care if she fixes it. Sophia's already seen her mother choose booze over her more than once and she never deserved that. Her mother could have killed her and countless others, and the only reason she's alive after today is because I wasn't losing another mother today. But what happens tomorrow, or when the next crisis comes that she can't deal with? Huh?"
Street's eyes are glued to Chris's face as her words come out more and more rapidly, her fists clenching and unclenching like she's holding back hitting something.
"Chris, what—"
"She chose to have a baby and she chose to keep drinking. There's a very real possibility that she won't turn a damn thing around and one day she's not going to choose to kill herself because of her drinking, but she will. That little girl does not deserve to suffer for years just to be left to pick up the pieces that her mother is going to shatter when she—" Chris heaves, the whole world moving too fast for her to see anything around her besides stars in her vision.
"When she proves what was more important to her."
Body giving out, Chris lands with a thud on the bench. Street stands motionless, the puzzle pieces clicking into place slower than he needs them to.
I wasn't losing another mother today.
What was more important to her.
She never deserved that.
Heart dropping like a stone, Street's every instinct is screaming to comfort Chris. Before he can think, he sits next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulders, pulling her hunched form into his side. Slow tears roll down her face, shaky exhales as she tries to get a hold of herself. His voice is warm and familiar in her ear.
"What's going on, Chris?"
Shaking her head with more vigor, she knows opening her mouth will only make things worse. She wipes her cheeks and scans her body upwards, looking for any excuse to not have this conversation in the middle of the locker room. Her stomach grumbles.
"Why don't you drive home, and I'll pick something up from the diner and meet you?"
It's the one out he's going to give her before taking matters into his own hands, and she nods. Her bones creak when she stands, a rush of air escaping. She fishes for her keys in her backpack and feels Street's eyes on her back. Clearing her throat again, she takes in a deep breath to get through HQ without falling apart.
The drive home is quick, and Chris remembers nothing of getting from point A to point B. Trudging upstairs, she slides her backpack off by the front door and throws the keys onto the dining room table. Her clothes feel too tight, face gritty with dried tears, and she chugs a glass of water in her bathroom before throwing on sweats and an old Nike shirt. Street's location shows him just leaving the diner.
She's lying on the couch and staring blankly into space when there's a light knock on her door.
"It's open," she calls, hearing the exhaustion in her voice. Pushing the door open, Street scans the room and winces when he sees her curled up like she's trying to hide from the world. Without a word, he gets down two plates and doles out their food, setting it on the table and then bringing over water and paper towels.
The smell of the food makes her aware of just how little she's eaten. She can see the gears turning in his head, wanting to ask, but he lets it lie while she practically inhales half the burger and fries. Hunger sated, she only picks at the rest and watches him finish. Their eyes keep meeting and breaking, each waiting for the other to say something. Eventually, empty plates on the end tables, he breaks the silence.
"Are you going to tell me what's going on with you today? I'm worried."
Though he thinks he knows from the locker room, he long ago learned not to make assumptions about Chris. If he's wrong, he'll only push her further away. The barbed wire wrapped around her skin cuts in deeper, memories pounding in her skull. Tears start again before she can stop them, and she pulls her knees to her chest to try to block it all out.
The laughing. The numbness. The crying from the other family in the police station.
"My mom died 21 years ago today," she gets out, voice like gravel. "She was 34."
Puzzle pieces falling into place, he lets out a low exhale and grasps for anything to say.
"It's nothing," she says, cutting off his thoughts. "Thanks for dinner. You can go."
"I'm not going anywhere." He insists.
"We do this all the time, Street. You can't, we're not—"
"I know," he says with a shake of his head. "We're not together. But there's no one else here and I'm well-acquainted with how much pain mothers can cause, emotional or otherwise. You wouldn't, haven't, left me when the roles were reversed."
Chris feels the burn of anger building in her chest. It hurts, but it's better than the despair that's been making a sinkhole there all day.
"You can give me some BS about how much she loved me all you want. If the roles were reversed, she'd probably be at a fucking bar right now and I wouldn't even be a thought in her head."
Mind running a million miles an hour, Street finally catches up to Chris, his words out before she can keep barrelling on.
"But they're not reversed, Chris," he says, tone so matter-of-fact and calm it makes her want to break something. He sees her fists clench and unclench across the table and tosses her the throw pillow sitting on the other chair.
"You're here, she's not. That's got to be hard."
"Your mom went to prison when you were 12." She counters. The ghost of her mother growing in her periphery and she needs it gone. He shrugs.
"Yeah, but she was alive. She saw me grow up, saw pictures when I got sworn in. Truly losing her as young as you—"
"Stop!" Chris demands, breathing speeding up as her pulse does. "It's done. It's been over for over 20 fucking years."
Considering his options, Street pushes just an inch more.
"It didn't end when she died, Chris. That, I do know. Have you ever talked to anyone about it?"
It's ice water down her spine.
"So they can lie to me about who she was and what she did? Tell me however I should feel?" She scoffs. "No."
"No," he says, for what feels like the millionth time. "So you can see there are a lot of people who are on your side."
Clenching her jaw, she holds back tears.
"There's no other side to be on. I'm going to wake up tomorrow and be older than she ever was."
It's enough to knock him out and he's listening to it, not living it. He looks her up and down and senses the change in her. Not asking for permission, he moves to sit on her coffee table and rests a hand on her shoulder, squeezing her gently.
"I can't imagine what that feels like," he tells her. "But there are so many people who love you and are here to help you figure it out."
The death of her mother feels like an open wound that's been left to fester for 21 years and now it's either going to stitch itself closed or kill her. She shakes her head.
"It feels like feeling like a fucking idiot," Chris confesses, her voice breaking in her anger. Her eyes are like a storm but she refuses to look at him. "Because it means I won. I'll never be her. But some small part of me still doesn't hate her. I wish I did."
It would make things easier for herself, and rationality tells her she'd be justified. Street grazes his thumb over her skin, a familiar feeling swirling in his stomach.
He remembers what she told him before Karen's funeral about loving deeply flawed people who never change. He's been grappling with the new tilt of the world since Wendy told him she was dead, trying to convince himself that he can be whoever he wants and has nothing to prove either way. That he's not defined by his mother or the loss of her.
Chris shrugs in the silence, skin crawling and dejected, like she's had this conversation with herself a million times over. She has, and she comes to the same conclusion every time.
After today, she'll have outrun the twisted fate that she was subject to as a young girl, but her life will be no less affected by her mother and her choices. Any lingering, bloody shreds of hope for closure, for peace, are slipping away from her in real time.
"She didn't deserve you." Street says, tone firm and it brings her eyes to his, finally.
"You didn't deserve a second of what she put you through."
She shakes her head again, jaw clenched.
"You'd think after so many years, it would hurt less. Or I'd care less."
His hand is warm on her shoulder, and his eyes soft and sad where they rest on her face, searching for something. Her words go deeper than the passing of her mother or their relationship. Something innate that's never been fully missing from her life, but came to her conditionally, misshapen and unrecognizable.
"About what?" He prods gently, bracing himself. She knows the game he's playing, and she's grateful, in a way, that he's allowing her to ease in, giving her room to take up. After the stages of grief that have been rising in her all day like a dam getting dangerously close to cracking, though, it's like everything recedes. Her words aren't bitter, or depressed. She feels thirteen again.
"That she didn't love me."
"Chris—"
"She didn't," She shrugs, eyes getting distant and misty as a slew of skeletons rise from their graves and start knocking at her chest. "I couldn't tell you the last time she told me she did. I've always wondered if she thought it in the last second before the impact. Or if she was sorry. She was probably too drunk to even realize what the fuck was going on."
As much as she tries to hide it, to bury it underneath a wall of steel in her chest and take every bad thing that's happened to her in some warped sense of stride, Street hears the hurt in her voice. Can see the war raging behind her irises between how she feels, and what she's told herself every day for the past twenty years to try to protect herself.
"However you feel is okay." He says softly, hoping it loosens some of her armor. "I'm not going to tell you who she was because you know better than I ever will. But being upset, or confused, or angry about her not being who she was supposed to be for you? That's not wrong. I don't know what to think or make of my mom, either, most days. Don't punish yourself for caring."
His words are undeniably true. The bitterness, the confusion, the loneliness—he's the first one in her life who's ever understood what it all feels like, given to him by his own mom. His eyes resting on hers, it makes her feel seen for the first time.
There are so many questions, these things that have undeniably made her who she is, that she'll never have an answer for. He could be an answer.
"I just wish I knew why I wasn't enough," she admits in a small voice, wiping under her eyes and nose with the side of her hand. He freezes, unable to believe that in her brilliant mind and her heart of gold, she blames herself for wanting her mother's love. Until the reason hits him in the perfect clarity of a familiar pain. Shutting his eyes, he makes a conscious effort to keep his anger on her behalf in check.
After a deep breath, he watches where her eyes stay locked on her hands. Her frown and the set of her shoulders read like a book. Hot tears roll down her cheeks and he can't keep himself from sliding onto the couch and pulling her into his side.
"You're enough, Chris," he promises, lips vibrating against her hair as she struggles to rein in her emotions. He breathes in the familiar smell of her shampoo like she does his cologne.
"Not for her," she counters, high-pitched and nails digging into her palms. He wedges his free hand between hers before she makes herself bleed, needing to protect from any future hurt since the past has already inflicted its wounds.
"I know," stopping, he sighs and clears his throat. "I know how easy it is to not believe me because I wasn't there. But I am telling you what you helped me realize. What happened to you and what happened to your mom aren't your fault. You were always enough; she never should've put you in that position."
Chris nods, trying to let his words sink in after so many years of carving away at herself has left her raw to the touch. She leans more of her weight into him, sure he'll be steady under her tears, and he continues.
"I didn't know her, but I know you because of her. You're one of the best people I've ever met. You spent the day giving Sophia the chance you never got. That's bravery."
He pulls back to look at her and wants to touch her face when a blink from her tear-filled lashes sends water to chapped lips, but he refrains. Giving her a grin, he looks at their hands to calm himself, and then finds her delicate brown eyes again. The moment lingers as he takes all of her in, and she lets him.
"You're my best friend. And that's all you."
The compliment brings the start of a smile to her face, a huff of a laugh escaping involuntarily when he holds her gaze and raises her eyebrows like he's daring her to challenge him.
"Thanks," she whispers, clearing her throat. He drops her hand to hug her again, both arms around her back and remembering all the times they've been in this position before. His heart skips as they separate but stay in the space of each other's breaths.
"I mean it," he says, a hand on her shoulder to break through the tension that's thick enough to cut with a knife. "You made yourself the promise to be better than your mom, and you're doing it. That takes guts most people don't have."
"You have them," she says, wiping at her under eyes with the pads of her thumbs to dry them. Her body is shaky, but slowly starts to settle back into place when his grin widens, just a hint of teeth visible.
"Of course I do," he winks, bathing in her breathy laugh before he softens. "Kids like us have to. And I've had a hell of a support system to keep me going."
"Yeah," she agrees. Craving his warmth, she leans in for another hug and rests her ear over his heartbeat until it overpowers the memories and sends the skeletons in her back to the dirt. The last of her tears stain his t-shirt, but he doesn't care. He buries his face in her hair and waits until he feels her weight moving backwards to open his eyes and let her go.
"Thank you… for this," Chris says, unsure of what else to say. He nods.
"You're welcome. I get why you don't talk about it often, but if you ever want to or if something's bothering you, you know I'm always here."
Years of conversations in the armory or kitchen come to mind, him being the one constant in-between all the things that didn't work out.
"Yeah, I know. Me too."
Taking her in again, she's more relaxed than she's looked all day. Exhausted, but herself, and it's a monumental relief to Street that she's okay. He glances around her apartment and notes their trash, and moves to grab her phone from her backpack and hand it to her.
"I'm sure Sarzo and Helena want to hear from you. I'll take care of the mess."
She scans the room, too, knowing the mess will take all of two minutes to clean, but says another thanks and takes a deep breath to dial Sarzo's number. Cabinets closing and running water underscore the ringing. She watches Street's back until they pick up.
"Chrissy!" Sarzo's voice bleeds into the air, followed quickly by Helena's. Chris smiles to herself at the familiarity of their tones.
"How are you holding up, Sweetheart?"
The care in Sarzo's voice warms her, and she waits a second to take stock of herself, eyes still trained on the kitchen.
"I'm okay. Hanging in there," she says, and for the first time, it doesn't feel like a lie. At the sink, he stills for a moment when her words reach him. The bubbles in the dish soap catch his smile
"It's okay if you're not." Helena cuts in, the words like another soft blanket meant to protect Chris from the cold, sharp edge of reality. "It's always a hard day. This year…. We're here if you want to talk about anything."
"I know," Chris says, voice getting scratchy again from more tears. "Street's here."
She isn't sure why she tells them, but it feels right when his assurances are the ones bouncing around her mind. Right away, she hears the change in their breathing with the knowledge that she's not alone. Part of her is compelled to say more, but after so many years and so many family dinners, she realizes she doesn't need to, and that makes her mind spin in an entirely new direction. Street glances just over his shoulder at the mention of his name, their eyes meeting for a second before he drains the sink and watches the water swirl down.
"Okay. We'll let you two get back to whatever you're doing." Helena says. "But you call us if you need us. Nothing is ever too big or too small, do you hear me?"
"Yes," Chris promises, free from any of her usual loving annoyance over their overbearingness to instead let their love wash over her in its entirety. "I will. I love you."
"We love you, too!" They promise her. The line goes dead and she sits in the moment, focusing on the smell of the air and the fill of her lungs. When she opens her eyes, Street's leaning against the counter, very clearly trying to look as if he wasn't very clearly staring at her, and the orange glow of sunset is coming in through her curtains.
She looks perfect haloed in the light, and he tucks the image away as much as it pains his heart to not be able to fully have her. Pressing off the counter, he walks back over and hands her a glass of water and two painkillers, sitting down after she swallows.
"Is there anything else you need, anything I can do?" He asks. The water coats her mouth and she shakes her head.
"No. Thank you, really. I'm probably just going to hang out here. Unless you and Luca wouldn't mind a few hours of company?"
Breaking into a wide smile, Street has to tell himself to rein it in, but it's worth it for her laugh. It feels like progress in more ways than one, both of them aware of it.
"Your company is always welcome. My wheels? I'll go slow."
Chris bites her lip, considering her options and memorizing the look on his face. She finds a smile of her own.
"Let me change. Your wheels."
hello! thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed! this is one that i started months ago, and i finally got around to finishing. the show spends so much time focusing on street and karen, which i understand, but i wish we got something more about chris/her growing up, too, so here's a little attempt to remedy that. there's just so much that could be said about chris and who she is and why on account of her parents and childhood, and to connect with street with that, that was left in the ether lol. also their platonic friendship but constant undercurrent of love/being the other's person. it just get me. comments/kudos appreciated! feel free to drop any prompts. survive should be updated pretty soon, too ✨? xo, A