Deacon's right.

Chris leaves SWAT, and Street doesn't know what to do.

It's been seven months, and, despite how incredible it is to walk into the safe house at the end of the day, or hang out at her apartment, or have her in his arms on his and Luca's couch, SWAT isn't the same for him without her.

He trusts Powell to have his back, slowly but surely, as she gets her life together, and everything else is functionally the same. Chris still works out with them every Tuesday and Saturday morning, an extra pair of her workout clothes folded neatly underneath his on the top shelf of his locker. Though a civilian, she strong-armed Hicks into leaving her range codes active so she can shoot with them. He finds her there often after hard days when she needs the outlet only a bullet ripping through paper can provide.

But the halls are alive with only the memory of her laugh. The locker room is dull in the mornings without her bright smile, and the conversations he has in the armory taking inventory remind him of her constantly. It's a jolt every time they climb into Black Betty that she isn't sitting next to him, her warm, steady presence the thing he held onto for so long. None of them come close to her sniping skills, as many drills as they run.

Street doesn't want her to know that walking through HQ without her feels like walking through the hallways at a new school, every day.

She's happier at the safe house. She's doing good, important work. He's happy for her, happier with her than he's ever been. So he swings by the food truck, and she distracts him through his baking shows, and when she asks how work is going, he says good.

Which, really, it is. Except for the nagging feeling that he's missing something, and that something is always Chris.

HQ is chaos. Their phone lines sound off like a circus, press lingers outside like vultures, and the TVs in the Eagle's Nest are overtaken by a countdown clock and a livestream of LA's Mayor with a gun to her head.

Adrenaline races through Street's veins as Hicks barks orders and 20-Squad races to get Black Betty ready. He's finishing loading their AKs when there's a pull on his heart at how the scopes always make him think of Chris. Taking a deep breath, he pushes the thought aside to get his head back in the game.

"One of the number one rules of this job?" She told him, only a few weeks into his time on the team. "Stay focused. Your life depends on it, and so do ours."

In his periphery, Hicks whispers with Deacon, their mouths behind a folder so no one can see what they're discussing. Street's sure it's got something to do with the case, but Deacon walks away and Hicks takes out his phone, so he assumes it has nothing to do with them directly. It's not until Deacon runs over and tells them they're not rolling out yet that his heart starts pounding, not just from adrenaline, and his feet freeze to the hot parking lot.

"Commander," Deacon says, voice sharp and the tension in the air thick enough to cut. "We've got two hours until that clock goes off. They have every floor of that building covered up to the rooftops, so any approach we take is going to have to be simultaneous. This plan has to go perfectly. We need—"

"She's a civilian now, Deac." Hicks interrupts, sweat collecting on the back of his neck.

Grimacing, grip on his gun tightening, Deacon says he knows.

"She's the best sniper in Los Angeles. We need Chris."

"Hold up!" Deacon yells, bringing everyone to a halt as they're about to climb into Black Betty. Questions rise in their eyes, an uncertain look shared between Street and Tan.

"What's going on, Deac?" Hondo asks.

"We're not going yet, someone else is rolling with us. Hicks is making the call now."

It's the way that Deacon's gaze cuts to him, so fast it's almost unnoticeable, that tells Street everything he needs to know. As much as he misses her, as much as he knows how capable she is of protecting herself, the thought of her in danger is too much. He's stunned into a silence that kills the argument he wants to make in his throat, and the confused murmurs of the rest of his team fade into background noise underneath his rushing blood.

"Fifteen minutes. The second she's ready, you're rolling." Hicks interrupts, a curt nod at Deacon and sharp gaze traveling over the team.

"Who?" Luca demands.

This time, Deacon's look to Street is pointed, and the other eyes follow. Determination and nausea swirl in his stomach, his hands shaking around the straps of his vest.

"Chris."

She's just finishing filling out another petition for asylum form when her phone rings. Sighing at the thought of adding another thing to her already-miles-long to-do list, it turns into a rock in her stomach when she reads the caller ID.

"What happened? "

"Alonso. You're at the safe house?"

"Yeah. Is Street okay?"

"There's a hostage situation downtown involving Mayor Armstrong. We need you. Rocker's on his way to bring you back to HQ, and you'll roll out with 20-Squad. You can do that?"

Every synapse firing, her heartbeat speeding up like it hasn't in months, Chris barely gets the chance to answer before she's sprinting out the door to the sound of sirens and the flash of lights.

"Roger."

Shoving her phone into her back pocket and shouting to her volunteer Liliana that it's an emergency, she rips open the car door and slides in. Rocker's foot is on the gas before she's buckled in, already throwing details at her.

"It's a militia. They've got three blocks guarded and every floor of the building, holding the Mayor on the roof. You really didn't see it on the news?"

He's looking at her like she has two heads, and she licks her teeth, still immediately needled by his tone even after so long away from his idiosyncrasies.

"You're not endearing, and I've been working on applications all morning. What's the breach plan?"

Taking a sharp left, Rocker flashes her a wide grin.

"50-Squad is covering the immediate block around the building, 40 and 60 the outer. 20's got the building itself. I'll let Hondo fill you in on your exact movements, I've got my guys to coordinate."

The motor pool clears as he pulls to a screeching halt. Popping the door open, Chris races to the Eagle's Nest, Hicks and the team waiting for her with expectant eyes. Her gaze instinctually falls to Street, breath catching at the set of his face, but she forces herself to focus on Hicks instead.

"Alonso, good to see you. Get changed, the team will catch you up on the road."

She falls back into the routine like riding a bike, nodding sharply as her feet turn to the locker room. A uniform is waiting for her on the bench, down to the regulation black socks. She's just taking off her shirt, grateful she picked to be comfy and wear a sports bra, when the locker room door clicks open, and she smells Street's cologne.

"We can't talk about this now." She says as she changes, tone sharp as a knife. Distractions will get them both killed, and the rules of yesteryear that kept them apart seem all the more important now that they're actually together.

"I know." He steps closer to her, tucking her hair behind her ear before she puts her com in. The action makes her blush, both smiling small, and his thumb lingers on her earlobe while the other slides down her arm to intertwine their fingers. His touch makes her shiver, their eyes meeting. "We can talk later. But I wasn't letting you get away without at least one I love you. I love you."

"I love you, too," she murmurs. She's tall enough in her boots to kiss him without reaching, but she raises onto the balls of her feet anyway. It's a quick brush of their lips, but it sets off fireworks in Street's chest, and he breathes out when she pulls back.

"Let's go kick some ass."

Her laugh echoes off the metal of the locker room, and his heart feels at home for the first time since she left.

The gun is cool and heavy in her hands. It feels like it's always meant to be there as she runs her fingers over the scope and trigger, refamiliarizing herself. Her secondary is strapped to her ankle, a habit never broken, and her other piece sits in the storage beneath them, just waiting to come alive under her command.

"Chris, Tan, and Luca" Hondo starts, breaking her from her nostalgia-fueled reverie, "you three will break once we get halfway down 4th Avenue. Deac and Powell will cover you so you can get into position at the parking garage across the way. You need to get to the 20th level, so Tan and Luca, do whatever you've got to protect that route. Once you're in position, Street and I will approach from the roof to distract. You take the shot the second you have it. Do we all understand?"

A series of affirmations fill the van, but Chris's "Got it, Boss," sticks out in Street's mind like a lighthouse beacon. It feels undeniably right having her thigh brush against his again, fighting back the urge to lock their ankles.

"One question, Boss." She exhales, her old self sparking to life. "You want him dead or alive?"

Bullets fly around them, dragging up dust and bits of broken debris. Calls of Rabbit! are abandoned when the number of bodies becomes a zoo. Somehow, Street winds up directly behind her as they begin their approach down the plastered street towards the mayor. She focuses on the feeling of his eyes on the back of her neck until they have no choice but to split apart.

His first thought is that it's been too long. That, even in the midst of a high probability of major bodily injury or death, he feels good. Alive! His being is drawn to hers like an oasis in the desert. He doesn't dare take his head off its swivel to leave a longing look when they part, but he does catch in his periphery how her shoulders pull back and her chin rises, and he's sure her eyes are sharp as she hunts the horizon. Ready.

"Give me two!" Street shouts. In the time it takes her to look over and make sure he's safe, someone's barreling down on her with their gun aimed at her chest.

Muscle memory saves her. With her long gun slung across her back, her handgun puts her in a worse position against the throngs of men that have no problem killing or dying for their supposed cause. She trusts in her shoulders as they've found their place against Tan and Luca's as easy as they always did, their feet moving as one as they flank either side of her to pick off whoever crawls out from between the skyscrapers. Without a second thought, she pulls the trigger and feels the recoil, and then they have a clear shot to the parking garage. She breaks into a sprint with the others behind her.

"24-David, approaching the 2-side stairwell of the parking garage. 6 minutes until set."

The shade of the garage gives a cool relief from the heat of the afternoon. Taking the stairs two at a time, she's just out of breath as they reach the 20th floor, and she makes a mental note to bribe Street into an extra hike next weekend. She breathes deep until her heartbeat settles. When she looks around, Tan and Luca have cleared the rest of the floor and are posted at her back, and her hands are working diligently to set up her gun.

It's an awkward angle, but Mayor Armstrong's tear-stained, terrified face and duct-taped wrists are visible, and behind her stands a masked man with a megaphone in one hand a gun biting into her temple in the other. She can hear Hondo's strong, unwavering voice in her com, and keeps hers low to quell any chance of the suspect hearing her.

"24-David. I need the suspect to move 45 degrees to the left."

She pulls her safety glasses down around her neck to get as close to the scope as possible. Each inch the suspect moves, she follows, but her eyes drift up of their own accord when another chest becomes visible.

"Listen, Man," Street says, and her breath stops when she sees that his gun is fastened securely at his hip, his hands up in surrender. "Your message has been heard. It's been live on every station in LA for hours, you don't need her anymore."

Even knowing Hondo is behind him doesn't help calm the pounding in his chest that hostage situations always causes. But he sees black in the distance, black that leads to nimble, skilled, inked fingers, and he feels like he can breathe again. Glancing towards the doorway, he reaches a slow hand out to the knob, slowly coaxing the man to the side.

Forcing her focus back on the suspect, Chris doesn't allow herself to hear Street's voice where it comes through her com. She sees his body move, and then the suspect's a moment later, and keeps her finger light on the trigger, waiting for her opening. She knows she has when the space between the suspect's head and his gun hand opens.

Deep breath, she thinks. One. Two.

"There's an army of news vans at the bottom of this. You let her go now, and you'll have all of LA—"

One shot.

Two.

The world slows down as her bullets cut through the air, and then slams back to its entirety when they strike his hand and shin in rapid succession. Street has the man on his back in a second, securing the cuffs before he pulls a rag out of his vest and presses it against the gushing hole in the man's palm. Slamming doors and boots on pavement bring more noise, more orders.

"Get him up, Street, paramedics are on their way up."

He pulls the man up and props him against the wall, leaving him in Rocker and Cabrera's hands. Through the crowd of officers he manages to get a glimpse at the trio across the way. Her gun is away, but he knows there's no way she'll leave without processing it properly, and the thought of 15 minutes in the armory alone is enough to bring a smirk to his face.

"What's that all about, Street?" Deacon interrupts his thoughts with a laugh and his own knowing smirk, making Street lose his. "It's good to have our girl back, I know."

Alone again, he watches Chris high-five and side-hug Tan and Luca. Her laugh plays in his head like a song, and he starts down the stairs to meet them outside the bullet-riddled building. As long as they're in uniform, he knows she'll stop any kisses with a hand on his chest or, if he's lucky, a pat on the cheek. He's grinning like a fool by the time he reaches the bottom.

Chris can't hide from how incredible she feels. Satisfied in a way that she's still trying to find in civilian life, as happy as she is. The barrage of noise in her com is enough to overwhelm her, and she pulls it out before tears can form over the call signs of her family. Tan gives her a look, but she shakes her head with a glare. Her fist connects with his shoulder when he laughs.

The gun is a welcome, grounding weight on her back as they head back to their meeting point. Only Street has arrived from the roof, his arm held out and waiting for her. Every old habit burns in her like a fire to avoid easy touches and heavy glances at all costs, but she allows herself the grace of something she never had. Tucking herself under his arm is a homecoming that she lets linger until what's left of the door opens, and the suspect is rolled out.

"That's some of the best shooting I've ever seen, Miss 24-David," Hondo praises with a bright smile. She rolls her eyes in mock annoyance but warmth pools in her limbs and a short chuckle escapes.

"Happy to be of service. Hell of a way to be called back."

On the tail of her grin, Street tries to sneak his lips under her defenses, but the years of walls she built come slamming up, if quickly crumbling. Her hand rests gentle but firm on his cheek.

"Absolutely not."

But then she leans closer so her voice floats into his ear like a spell.

"When we're home."

His furious blush signals to the team all they need to know. Making quick work of defusing the tension, Deacon wrangles them back to Black Betty with the promise of a good night's rest, and assurance their picture will be on the front page tomorrow.

Chris falls back so she can watch as the team goes. They carry themselves with an energy yet to be replicated, and she soaks as much of the high in as she possibly can. How amazing it felt to be "24-David" again, if only for a few hours, with these people at her six. Street turns around when he no longer feels her beside him. He traces her face and quietly slides backwards to meet her, his adoration for her almost insurmountable. Neither say anything, too much to put words to, but she slips her hand into his as they walk, and doesn't let go until they're back at HQ.

Applause erupts the moment her boots hit the ground in the motor pool. Officers old and new look at her with approving smiles and star-struck eyes, and it's all Chris can do to beeline it to Hicks. He claps her on the back with a pride of his own that settles in her like the seed that starts a garden.

"Great work, Alonso. To make those shots and bring him in alive. I don't say this lightly, but the city owes you."

Her gears turn with how much help she could get for the safe house from this, but there's too many logistics to figure out right now, so she basks in the opportunity instead.

"My pleasure, Sir, there's a reason I've kept up my training."

He gives her a nod and lets her go. A part of her will always be SWAT no matter what she does, will always be 20-Squad, and her adrenaline launches her down a line of thinking about how she could do both. She tries not to give it too much mind, knowing the current rush and impending crash are both going to exhaust her too much to form any rational conclusions. The good energy follows her all the way to the locker room.

She didn't notice earlier, but it's when she goes to open Street's locker to retrieve her clothes that she realizes his locker is no longer his. Her heart skips when she looks at the labels and sees that he moved into her locker, and she appreciates how peaceful that makes her feel. Tucking away the thought to bring up later, her fingers curl around the metal, relishing in how it feels under her palm, and grabs her clothes just as the rest of the team piles in. Street smiles at her, eyes swirling with emotion.

"I'm charging next time." Chris jokes, bathing in their laughter. Back in her civvies, she folds the uniform and takes a final round of hugs before they all head out. The bench is cool where she waits for Street. His movements are slow, calculated, and she sighs softly when his shoulders shake on an exhale. Over his vest, her hand still soothes his nerves.

"I'm going to inventory my weapons." She says, a light edge on her voice to spur him into action. Picking up her handguns, she leaves him to his thoughts. His stomach spins as he tries to think of how he can possibly put all his thoughts into words. After a moment, he takes a deep breath and realizes that the words will come once she's in his line of sight, like they always do. He throws his uniform in his locker and trades his work boots for his bike boots, the door swinging shut behind him.

"You okay?"

Chris squints, trying to hold onto the number of bullets she counted before it goes, and hums when it leaves her anyway. Setting down the box, she turns to Street with a shrug.

"I didn't realize how much I missed this. Insane as it is, I loved this job."

"Me, too," he breathes out, smiling. "It's okay to feel torn. I am"

"I know—what?"

Street walks around the table so they're side by side, and picks up a pen to sign off on her unfinished count. He can feel her eyes on him, his hand sneaking over to take hers.

"I've missed you. At work. I miss you every day. There's no better feeling than knowing you had my six. Being in the field with you. You made this job what it is for me, Chris, Made all our good times."

He sighs softly, the warmth of her body ramping up as she guides him around so they're facing each other. His free hand cradles her face, smiling when she nuzzles into it.

"Today's the first day since your last that things have felt right."

Heart sinking, Chris glances around to make sure they're alone, and then pulls him into her arms. His head fits perfectly in the space between her chin and shoulder, his own touch enough to both light her world on fire and give her the only sense of safety she's ever truly trusted. They stand there, hands sneaking underneath t-shirts, until the adrenaline starts to wear. She brushes her thumbs over the tops of his cheekbones when they part, and tips her chin upwards for a soft, quick kiss.

"I know you're happy at the safe house and this is the way it needs to be for us to be together—" he starts, but is cut off by a shake of her head.

"I'm a grown woman, Street. I'd be lying if I said I quit for anyone other than me, but knowing that I'd have you on the other side did help me feel safe enough to take that step. I'm happy I did because I love the safe house, and I love you. But it's been hard for me, too." She admits, holding his hand in both of hers. "Whenever the news breaks that you guys are hunting down a killer or trying to stop a bomb, I wish that I was able to be out there, having your six."

Shoulders falling, all the tension leaks from his body as he understands that he's not alone in his feelings. He steals another kiss, unable to stop himself, and picks up a box of bullets after.

"I love you," he tells her, seeing her smile in his periphery as she disengages her gun cartridges to count what's left.

"I love you, too. Maybe I'll ask Hicks about running drills with you guys once a month. In case there's a next time."

"I hope there's a next time," Street mumbles before he realizes, desperate with want. Nudging him hard with her shoulder, she laughs.

"I'm glad to know you love it when I'm in danger."

He freezes, face falling when he looks at hers, but his tone is all confidence.

"First, no, I hate that feeling. I love it when you're covered in TAC gear and kicking ass. Second, you're the one who jumped on me after I took out that cartel leader live on television, so I think you like it, too." He ends on a whisper, breath grazing her jaw, and smirks when she shivers.

Biting her lip, she finishes counting the bullets in her head and scrawls down the number before sweeping her hand across the table so they land neatly enough in the box. The cartridge clicks back into place, Street taking the weapon from her to lock it safely away, and she blushes when she sees that he brought his backpack with him.

"Rocker picked me up, you know."

Taking her hand, he squeezes tight and starts towards his bike with the most urgency she's ever seen, ready to cash in on her promise from earlier.

"Well, I'm taking you home."

(It takes an extra fifteen minutes, but later they deny the allegations from Tan that someone saw two people making out in the motor pool by a motorcycle that looked suspiciously like Street's.)

hello! thank you so, so much for reading! i really hope you enjoyed this one, because i truly loved writing it and am so proud of how it turned out. (big props to sandyfin for the intial prompt, too, many moons ago!) it originally started out set post-6x22, but i wanted to lean more into chris and street truly working side by side again, and getting to have one of their iconic conversations in the armory, all the feelings and flirting. please let me know what you think! all kudos and comments appreciated ? until next time! xo, A title is from "Sarah's Place" by Noah Kahan and Zach Bryan.