The repetitive chime of Street's alarm brings him back to the land of the living. On instinct his hand reaches out, but he only finds cold sheets. It's when he opens his eyes that he realizes he's in the guest room.
As long as he slept in here before, he's gotten used to the weight of Chris's comforter and her body heat from being beside her at night, trying to keep the nightmares at bay or watching one of his baking shows until they fall asleep. Getting up with a groan, his shoulders and ankles popping, he stretches and listens. There's no noise coming from the living room or kitchen, and he peeks his head out to see her door cracked. Unable to stop, he creaks the door open that much more to see her asleep. He smiles at the set of her features, soft and relaxed.
Not wanting to disturb her, he changes and heads to her kitchen. With Helena and Sarzo continuing to bring groceries and leftovers, her fridge is fuller than he's ever seen it. He moves around containers until he finds what he brought from the food truck and pops it into the microwave, pulling a mug down for coffee.
Chris wakes up to a quiet beeping a few minutes later. Something delicious-smelling wafts into her bedroom, and she glances at the clock and then winces at how long she's slept. Yawning, she stands and runs a hand through her now-dry hair to untangle it. She throws on a hoodie that she knows isn't hers but it's on her dresser, and makes her way into the kitchen.
"Hey!" Street says when he sees her, keeping his voice quiet. His eyes widen when he catches sight of the hoodie, warmth growing in his chest. She smiles back and stops at the sink for water before sitting across from him at the table.
"You showered?" He asks. At the look on Chris's face, he's quick to continue, with a light blush glazed over his cheeks. "Your hair, it's wavier than normal. It's only like that when you just washed it."
Chris bites her lip but can't hide her blush either, and nods. She taps the table in an even rhythm.
"Yeah. I had to after PT. It was a bitch to do by myself, though, getting in and out. It's a lot easier with help."
Her words from weeks ago that he could stay until she could shower hang in the air, but Chris is skating around them so Street doesn't question it further. Sighing, she sets her head in her other hand as her feelings for him are washed away by another rush of disappointment at her current reality. His touch is warm on her forearm.
"You're almost there."
It's supposed to be reassuring, but it just serves to twist Chris's stomach into knots.
"I guess," she agrees.
Able to read the storm of emotions in her eyes, Street exhales and directs his attention back to his food. He feels awful because there's so much of this he can't fix, but this is one thing he can.
"Are you hungry? There's another container from the food truck in the fridge, or Helena's leftover chicken?"
"No, thanks," Chris says, though the corners of her lips are quirked up and that eases Street some. "I'll eat in a little while and do the dishes."
Letting it lie, Street finishes eating and rinses his dishes. Chris gets comfortable on the couch, a pillow behind her back and blanket tossed over her legs, so he takes one of the chairs.
"Bake Off?"
They get through two episodes before Street has to leave, but not without asking Chris one more time if she's hungry. His eyes are worried, and, like everything, it's a source of annoyance more than comfort.
"I'm fine!" Chris snaps.
The second the words are out, she feels even worse. Deflating, she looks at Street where he's coming out of the guest room with his backpack, face fixed into a neutral mask of protection. Whether or not she's hungry, her stomach is on the floor.
"I'm sorry."
Street's instinct is to bite back, but he takes a deep breath and produces an even smile. He remembers how irritable he was after his surgery.
"All good, Chris."
She watches as he laces his boots and takes his leather jacket and keys off the hook by her front door.
"Be safe!" Chris shouts when he moves to open the door, needing something else between them before he leaves for the night.
"I wouldn't dream of anything different." He says, his playful tone, familiar to Chris as her own voice, back in his words. "Have a good night."
"One second!" Chris calls the following day. She doesn't know who's knocking on her door at 3pm, but smiles when she looks through the peephole and opens it.
"Hey, Tomas," she says, leaning in when he gently hugs her around her crutches. "What are you doing here?"
Moving backwards so he can come in, he kicks off his shoes and sets a grocery bag on the counter.
"What, I can't see my favorite cousin?"
Chris laughs and shakes her head. She tells him to get whatever he wants as she makes herself comfortable on the couch, and he returns with two glasses of water and a plate of cake slices he pulls from the bag. He sits across from her.
"We just finished that job on Mrs. Marzano's kitchen. It's not as good as mom's coconut cake, but close."
Picking one up, Chris tries it before agreeing with Tomas's assessment, though she thanks him all the same.
"How are things going with your knee?" Tomas asks cautiously, wincing when it makes Chris sigh.
"It's going. I fucking hate it."
Nodding, Tomas says he's sorry.
"I love the team, but it's nice to be able to say how bad it is without constant encouragement that it'll be fine. It feels like bullshit." She shrugs.
Tomas laughs, almost choking on his cake, and Chris narrows her eyes.
"There wasn't a day I was in the hospital you weren't next to me, telling me I'd get through it and encouraging me."
Chris's face softens, but she rolls her eyes and starts to say that's not the same thing.
"I'm pretty sure it is," Tomas says with a smile. "I mean, I get it. But it might be easier if you tell them it isn't helpful."
It's the exact kind of practical advice that Chris needs to hear that dredges up all her feelings of needing to be independent.
"You never told me I was annoying you." She counters, digging deeper to deflect. He juts his chin out, tells her she's right.
"But I was 12." Her eyes are blazing and he continues, dropping the joke.
"And I was scared. I needed you there, doing exactly what you were. That was what helped me, then. If you need something different, you've gotta let people know. We all know you're incredible, you don't have anything to prove."
No argument, Chris murmurs that she knows, and she will. Tomas stares at her, matching brown eyes, until she blinks and repeats, louder, that she will. She shoves at the air to knock the tension out of the room. Picking up on her discomfort, he lets it go.
"I also wasn't going to piss off the person who was giving me bone marrow."
Laughing softly, Chris says he wouldn't have.
"You were getting my bone marrow whether you wanted it or not. How are things with Allison?" She asks, quieting down. Tomas blushes but her tone is sincere.
"They're good! We have another date next week, our third. I was thinking of going to that new steakhouse, something fancier than coffee."
The thought of her baby cousin all grown up makes Chris warm, and she can't help but smile.
"I think she'll love that. I'm happy for you. You're taking her flowers?"
The blush on Tomas's face deepens.
"Of course. You'll be happy to hear her older brother lives in Chicago now, so she only sees him like twice a year."
Humming, Chris says that's good.
"I never said anything to him that he didn't deserve to hear."
Tomas chuckles, saying he's sure of it. The two fall into easy conversation, hashing out the newest family gossip he has from Helena and other plans they're trying to get in motion for the next reunion. Neither realizes how much time has passed until the guest bedroom door closes and Street appears in the hallway.
Waking, Street's on guard when he hears an unfamiliar voice mixing with Chris's. It's only after his sleep-addled brain comes to that he realizes it's Tomas and relaxes. Content with Tomas seeing him in his pajamas, he tosses on a tank top and walks quietly down the hallway.
Chris's laugh is like a melody as it floats through the air and into his ears. He can only see the back of Tomas's head, but Chris's smile is brighter than the sun as the living room comes into his full view. He can't make out what they're saying, but she looks more relaxed than he's seen her in days.
For a second, a pang of hurt hits him as he looks at Tomas and then thinks of Nate, but he takes a deep breath to chase that away.
"Hey," Chris says, pulling his attention back to the present. Her smile stays as her gaze falls on him, and Street's lips quirk upwards, too. "You sleep okay?"
Tomas twists around to look at Street as he tells them he slept great and then moves towards the kitchen for coffee. The clock on the stove reads 6PM, and Tomas's eyes widen as he double-checks his phone to make sure that's right. Opening it shows him two missed texts from Helena and one from Sarzo, and he stands quickly.
"You want dinner?" Street asks from the fridge. Tomas says no, thank you, as he gathers the plate of leftover cake and their glasses.
"I've gotta run. The 'rents have a thing and I need to watch Mirabel at 6:30." He puts his shoes on in a flurry before hugging Chris again, tight.
"See you soon, love you."
"Love you, drive safe, tell Mirabel the same."
A final nod, Tomas grabs his keys and closes the door behind him. Chris and Street are left in the now-calm of her apartment, the only noise Street tapping on her fridge door as he looks for food.
"Do you want dinner?" Street asks again when he hears Chris crutching towards him, but it's more cautious than last night, the memory fresh in his mind. Swallowing sheepishly, Chris says sure.
"Make whatever you want, thank you."
Dinner is delicious and comfortable, and both are relieved that the energy from the previous night has dissipated after rest and good company. Street fills her in on what's happening at HQ, how the cases she was working on have developed, and she's grateful to talk about something other than her injury.
After they're done, Street takes their dishes to the sink and fills it with warm water. Unable to feel useless any longer, Chris joins him, dish towel in hand.
Butterflies flutter around every time their arms or hands brush when he hands her a dish to dry. They haven't talked about them since Street said they'd figure out what's next when they get there, and they continue without a word, sinking into other's breathing.
He turns to put away a pan under the stove, and Chris watches the ripple of Street's muscles until he starts to stand. Not wanting to be caught, she focuses on the dry mugs and glasses. After scooching them down the counter, she leans her crutches against the cabinets and reaches up to put them away while Street handles the silverware.
On the tiptoes of her good leg, she's just tall enough to reach the upper shelf for the mugs. She's almost done when her balance falters.
The ceramic hits the counter and shatters. Her heel hits the ground, a shock running through her body as her hands slap down hard so she doesn't fall. A crutch falls in the chaos that Street catches, eyes wide and breathing just as heavy as her.
"Woah, are you okay?" He says, but all he gets back is fragile silence.
His hands are in front of him like he's unsure if he should touch her or not, and he ducks his head to try to see her face where it's tilted down. Her jaw is clenched and her fingers are flexed, white and red from the effort of clawing at the counter to keep herself together.
"Chris?" Street asks, as softly as he can. Taking deep breaths, she holds a hand up and shakes her head.
"Give me a minute, please." She says, hating how her voice is so thick with tears that it shakes.
Her strained breathing fills the kitchen as her heart pounds. Directing his attention to the tile, Street looks around to make sure there are no shards of the mug that she might step on. Slowly, he leans down to pick up the bigger pieces, without touching her. He's throwing them out when she speaks again.
"I don't want to do this anymore." She admits, voice breaking. His heart stops, unsure of what exactly she means and desperately needing her to say more, but wanting to get out if she wants him out. If it's their relationship that's causing her shakiness.
"Okay. I'll clean this up and then—"
"Not that," She cuts, biting her lip until it bleeds. She moves to look at the ceiling instead of the floor, blinking away tears even as a few escape down her cheeks. "This."
Her hands open like she's gesturing to the whole of the world around them. He knows he's missing something, mouth opening as he searches for anything to say, but it doesn't matter because she keeps talking.
"I wish I was never in Lankford. I want this brace off. I want to be done with fucking physical therapy."
Anger and sadness run through Chris in equal measure, more tears falling as everything that's been eating at her comes out, her voice rising as each old thought finally sees the light of day. Street's stunned into silence.
"I can't do anything! I can't shower, I can't even put fucking dishes away and all—all I want is my goddamn life back! I hate feeling so helpless."
Her tone turns to defeat and a sob presses against Chris's chest until she has to let it out, head dropping and hair covering her face. He feels his stun turn to heartbreak at the sight and, though he's glad Rafa and his men are dead, he'd give anything to go back and get to Lankford a few hours earlier.
"Oh, Chris," he exhales. Not caring if he steps on a piece of the mug, Street wraps Chris in his arms. Still facing the cabinets, her one arm is pinned between her body and his as he holds her closer and runs a hand up and down her back.
Tucking her chin to her chest as her hurt overtakes her, Chris hooks her free hand on his arm where it's across her chest, using him to stay grounded like she did their first night home, though the discomfort she was left with after the physical pain eased never went away.
"I don't know what I did." Chris chokes out, the feeling like she's being punished but she doesn't know what for too much to handle alone. Closing his eyes so he doesn't cry, Street's lips vibrate against her hair when he shushes her.
"You didn't do anything." He promises, any leftover frustrations hanging over him fading away in the face of what she just told him.
Nothing left to say, she stands in his arms and cries. He wants to say something, anything, but nothing seems right, so he stays silent, too, letting her know he's there by holding her tighter. When she realizes he has no placations or false promises for her, she cries harder, protected in the bubble of her apartment and his understanding.
She cries until she can't. A million thoughts appear in her head and then fade away into a fuzzy nothingness too fast for her to do anything about. The only constants around her are his scent and his warmth against her. She learns into it like she can hide completely in him. He'd let her.
When her mind is finally, blissfully quiet, and all the tears have made their way down her face, she's exhausted. Slowly, she peels her hand from his arm and sets it back on the counter, her whole body buzzing when he steps away. The other wipes away the last traces of her tears.
Letting out a soft sigh, Chris clears her throat, not looking at Street, and reaches for her crutches.
"I'm sorry. You need to get ready for work. I'm fine."
His heart clenches as her defenses come back up. It feels like none of their progress has mattered, but he tells himself that this isn't her fault, that old habits die hard, and clenches his haw until he believes it. Meeting her gaze, she looks like she's trying to get a read on him but can't quite come to a solid conclusion. She turns to go back to her room, avoiding the rest of the debris, but stops when he rests a hand on her upper arm.
"It takes me ten minutes to get ready. How long have you been feeling like this?"
He's sincere. Tomas's words come back to her. So do Street's. Shaking her head small, she stares at the kitchen tile and runs her tongue over her teeth. She's quiet when she speaks.
"Since I woke up in the hospital. It's been worse recently."
The air around them settles but her vulnerability grates on her. Her eyes find his, trying to convince both of them that it's best to let it go.
"It doesn't matter, anyway. It happened, it's not going away. There's no point."
She crutches away before he can speak. At the couch, she sets the crutches on the floor and bends both of her legs as much as the adjusted-brace allows so she can make herself small. Discomfort sticking to her, she throws a blanket over her legs.
Taking a deep breath and falling a step behind, Street lets her get comfortable, finds a seat on the edge of the couch, and sets a gentle hand on her wrist when she reaches for the remote. His fingers find the delicate pulse pumping under her skin, and she swallows.
"There is a point." He stars, waiting until she meets his eyes to continue, hating the uncertainty in her face. "You're allowed to be upset about this. It sucks. I'm sorry for not recognizing that as much as I should have."
Chris focuses on the feeling of his hand on her, remembering when he held it to help support her as she limped to the helicopter and out of Lankford. The green and browns of his eyes are swirling under the dim living room lamp, making them look darker and deeper than normal. She shrugs, but doesn't pull away.
"Everyone's being so positive about it. I know it would help if I was, too, but some days it just feels like it's never going to end."
Pressing his lips together and running his thumb over her knuckles, Street nods.
"It will end, I promise. But you have every right to have bad days right now, to say that it's shitty. It is."
It's a weight off her shoulders, and Street smiles when he sees Chris relax some, almost cracking a smile at his words. Flipping her hand over, she squeezes his.
"Thank you," she exhales.
"Any time." Street assures her. "You sure you're okay? I'm always here to talk."
"I will be." She says, a bit more confident. "It'll be off in a couple of weeks and then I'll be back at work at least. I guess I can worry about passing my physical evals again after that."
"Yeah." Street smiles, not wanting to push her too much, but noting her worries for when they do come up. Chris can see the uncertainty behind his eyes. She understands, unsure of what to tell him about what will happen between them then, and not wanting to think about it while she doesn't have to.
Coughing, she takes her hand back to pick up the remote again, and gives him a gentle smile. The clock reads 8:00.
"You want to watch an episode of Bake Off before you have to get ready? If you really only need ten minutes. I bet Tan would doubt that."
Street narrows his eyes but he's used to loving jokes at his expense and they're never as annoying when they come from Chris. He's relieved she's back in a state of mind to make them.
"Maybe fifteen." He concedes, so he can hear her laugh. At some point, she stretches her legs back out and her feet land in his lap.
"Hey, Street!" Hondo says when Street turns the corner and comes into view of the boxing ring. Street throws him a wave and a smile.
"How's Chris?" Luca asks, bringing Hondo's even hits to a slow halt. Stopping, Street sets down his backpack and hangs off one of the ropes.
"She's okay. I was talking to her Aunt on the way in about doing dinner Tuesday after next when we're off. I think she could use something unrelated to physical therapy or an hour away for lunch."
Hondo and Luca agree right away, with Deacon and Tan jumping on board when they hear about it in the locker room.
"You sure Chris is okay with it?" Deacon asks.
The team stares at him expectantly, and Street's sure Hondo's paying more attention to his microexpressions about Chris than he ever has before. He tries to slow his heartbeat down.
"I know," Street says. "She hates surprises. That's why it's a small thing. I'm going to tell her, but I wanted to make sure we're all around so there's something to tell."
Satisfied, the team chats about what food to make and Street reminds them her family's also cooking until their phones collectively go off. They all look at Hondo, grinning with a fierce determination.
"Let's get ready to roll."
hi hi hi! super long time no see for this one, so i apologize for that with this extra long chapter. i hope you enjoyed it! i wanted to get more into exploring chris and tomas's dynamic and how she might be more open with her family than the team in some ways, and how the whole situation is really weighing on her (again: from personal experience lmao). the emotional upheaval coming at an inopportune time, but street's always there to help. we're nearing the end on this guy. the next chapter is almost finished (fr), and it's been one of my favorites to write! it's heavy stris, but also heavy on the whole teaming loving chris, and her family being there, and it's just a sweet fluffy moment to start rounding things out. after that, there'll be one or two more chapters, and i'm thinking a super short epilogue scene (perhaps i'll expand it over time, idk). thanks to everyone who keeps reading this guy (and all my other stuff) for your continued support! things have been rough recently, but i see all the comments and kudos and they mean so much to me. i have probably 15 wips in various stages, and i hope to at least someday, finish some of them. prompts/suggestions always welcome, kudos/comments always loved. until next time (which will not be 3 weeks, i promise). xo, A