She thought this was a good idea. That sitting in a dingy basement with burnt coffee and 14 strangers all talking about the holes in their chest left by loved ones would somehow help fill hers.
Even with Street sitting beside her, she couldn't be more wrong.
With every heartfelt memory and teary word that pours from the group, Chris becomes more and more aware of how close it is to being her turn. She knows she doesn't have to say anything, but one incessant thought is threatening to spill out that burns like vomit in the back of her throat.
And the thing is, she wants to tell someone. Someone other than Wendy, whose sole job it is to try to get her back in working order so she doesn't go haywire and become more of a liability for SWAT than she's already proven to be. She wants to tell someone who will help her figure out the truth, whether it's what she wants or not. That person is sitting right next to her, knuckles as white as the styrofoam coffee cup they're wrapped around, and everyone else's faces start to blur under the flickering, yellow-tinged lights. She needs to get out of there.
The force of her body pushes the chair back a few inches, enough to screech against the tile floor, and she winces through an apology before walking towards the door without looking back. Street freezes at the display, so unlike her, but everything has been so unlike her recently that it doesn't take much to spur him into action. Picking up her empty cup from beside her chair, he offers a calm apology with a charming smile, and follows her footsteps until they take him back into the cool night air. The darkness is disorienting since it was only sunset when they arrived, but he tosses the two cups into the trash can by the door and finds Chris underneath the glow of a streetlight, sitting on the brick ledge in front of flower beds, head to her chest so he can't see her face. He squints, taking note of the bruises on her knuckles and how tightly she's holding onto the wall, and approaches her slowly so he doesn't startle her.
"Hey," he says softly. She doesn't look up, but her shoulders relax. Relief that, even after everything, he's still willing to follow her.
"Hey," she chokes out, watching a tear roll off her chin and leave a dark circle on her jeans. "Sorry for running out like that."
He hears everything she doesn't say and keeps himself from drawing in a breath too sharply. Smiling even though she can't see it, he sets his hand next to hers, thumb twitching.
"No harm, no foul. Those lights were giving me a headache. Do you want to talk about it?"
"Yeah, but not here. I don't know…"
Her apartment skins her raw every time she walks into its silence, and there's no way she's having this conversation at the house since Luca's back. She roughly wipes away a tear, only to have her hand caught by his when she goes to set it back down.
"I know a place. It's a little bit of a drive, but you trust me?"
That snaps her head up. Her eyes are shining with more unshed tears, dark rings of mascara and smudged eyeliner covering up her dark circles, and she nods. Grinning, he squeezes her hand, and lets her hold it to hop down.
"I promise it's not the Hollywood sign." He teases, warmth piling in his stomach at her laugh. It's small and disjointed, like she's remembering how to do it for the first time in a while, but it's hers and that settles him. She pats her pockets out of habit and dries the rest of her face before he hands her his extra helmet, and wraps her arms tight around his waist.
She loses track of how long he drives, only cluing back in when they take an exit for Long Beach. Street navigates the roads easily, especially since traffic is light, turning through alleys and on back roads that eventually lead them to a small, rocky beach, off the beaten path. How easily he gets there tells her that it's not his first time, and her breath catches knowing he's brought her somewhere important to him. The small parking lot is empty.
Breathing in the salty air, he takes the helmet from her and locks them both around his handlebars, and then grabs a blanket from the storage under the seat. He can feel the question in her eyes, and refrains from reaching back to hold her hand as he starts towards the shore.
"I came here a lot as a kid, and started coming back after Nate. Eventually I got sick of cleaning sand off everything, so now I leave this with my bike." He explains, unprompted, laying out the blanket and sitting down. His voice and the gentle crash of the waves both start to calm her down.
"How'd you find this place?" She wants to know everything about him, more than she already does, and a small part of her hopes he'll tell her if she's the first person he's ever brought here. Not that she would know what to do with that. Seeing through her, he smiles small, and leaves his eyes fixed on the dark ocean.
"Things started to get really bad in fifth grade, so after school I'd walk around until it started to get dark. There's a café about a half mile up I'd go to, and, after enough visits, the owner knew me, and he'd give me something they had from the day before. One day he told me about this place. That became my routine most days."
Chris isn't sure what to say. In the light of his truth, the thought of asking if she's special to him makes her feel ridiculous, and selfish. He's not looking at her, but she casts her gaze down at her shoes anyway. The silence stretches between them until he shakes off the memory and nudges her lightly.
"It's okay, you know. This place has brought me a lot of comfort over the years, and I'm hoping it can do the same for you, whenever you want to talk."
Now that she's finally asked for help, the last thing he wants to do is push her too far, too fast, so he sees her nod in his periphery but doesn't say anything else. She wraps her arms around her knees, and he hates watching her make herself small.
"I need you to tell me the truth," she murmurs, so quiet it almost gets lost underneath the ocean.
"I swear."
"Is it my fault she's dead?"
"Chris—" he says, unable to stop the disbelief that rushes through his tone. But she buries her face in her jeans, and her small whimper is the most broken sound he's ever heard. He looks around, double-checking that they're in private, and wraps his arm around her shaking frame.
"No, Chris. I promise, nothing that happened is your fault."
"I asked her if she wanted to fill in."
Her words hit him and he understands, for the first time, how much pain she's in. That she's relived and dissected that day and everything leading up to it, and cemented in her mind every moment that makes her responsible. The realization makes his chest hollow, so he tries to find solace in knowing he'll do whatever it takes to convince her otherwise, even if it means taking this puzzle apart piece by piece.
"Why?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yeah. I'll tell you after you tell me why."
"I wanted to help her, and I wanted to be in the field with her. God, I'm so—"
"Hey," Street stops her, tightening his grip on her to ground her. "You're not selfish. What do you mean that you wanted to help her?"
Exhausted, Chris drags her face up to meet his eyes. Confusion and irritation run seep through her irises, but he's so sincere that she finds the words coming before she can think about it.
"We'd talked about her being new to SWAT and what it means for us to prove ourselves. I thought, with Deacon out, it would be a chance for her to get her feet on the ground."
"And?"
Her heart pounds in her chest. She knows what he's asking, and tears rush to her eyes as a lifetime worth of hard work and harder losses suffocates her. But he's still looking at her like things are going to be okay. Hot tears soak into her jeans when she drops her head again, too overwhelmed to look at him any longer. His presence stays steady by her side, unfazed as she struggles to get it out without letting it kill her.
"I wanted to know what it's like to not be the only woman out there."
She shatters underneath the stars. Abandoning all pretense, Street wraps his other arm around her front and cradles her to his chest. He feels her lean all her weight on him like it's too much effort to hold up, and her hands cling to his bicep and forearm. Blinking away tears of his own, he resolves to be there for as long as she needs.
"I miss her so much." Chris gets out, squeezing her eyes shut as shame and guilt twist in her chest. Whatever else she means to say gets lost in her cries, each one taking another piece of her. All Street can do is brush her hair out of her face and rock her, remembering all the times he wished someone were there to do the same for him, so he does.
He loses track of how long they sit there before she starts to quiet, but his hands start to cramp and a few tears of his own escape eventually. He ignores all of it. Her sobbing tapers off into nothing more than sniffles and stuffy breathing, and a whole-body ache keeps her where she is in his arms. Her words come out numb.
"The only way her death makes sense to me is if it's my fault."
Glancing down, he can tell her eyes are open and fixed on the water. He stills the hand running through her hair and covers hers instead, trying to give her some of his warmth when the confession makes her shiver. It scares him that there's no doubt in what she says, her reason not strong enough to fight this battle in her head.
"I swore I'd tell you the truth even if it's hard to hear," he starts, voice soft and even, like a blanket. "There's no making sense of her death. Trying to blame yourself only hurts you, and the people who care about you."
She tenses for just a second, his words making her feel like she's let him in too deep, but her body relaxes of its own volition. He doesn't mean for the last part to slip out, but doesn't backtrack, keeping himself solid behind her.
"I get needing someone to blame. Blame the man who shot her. Be angry and upset, but don't destroy yourself for something he did."
He burrows under her skin and into her heart with too much sincerity and rationality to argue with. She stares at the reflection of the moon in the water, and the horizon is bathed in black so it feels like she's looking at the edge of the world.
"Will you tell me why it matters now?"
Swallowing, his thumb traces lightly over hers, the repetitive motion soothing him.
"Because all you see right now when you look in the mirror is someone who did something selfish, and someone else got hurt because of it." He struggles to keep his voice steady, his throat feeling more thick with each word, but he continues. "But what you just told me is that you wanted to help pull someone up to the place that you had to get all by yourself. That's a selfless thing, Chris. The unintended consequences aren't your fault."
Fear lurks in the back of his mind about going too far, but now that he's started, he can't stop. It's easier to talk when they aren't in stillness, so he starts the gentle rocking again, looking down at the tops of her lashes.
"I didn't know Erika as well as you, but I consider her a friend, and anyone could see from a mile away how much you meant to each other. Not just because of SWAT. She knew you; she wouldn't blame you for what happened. She'd tell you that she loves you, and to take care of this like she knows you can."
She can almost hear Erika's voice in her head as Street says it, and she can't deny that he's right. A small smile comes to her face at the first positive memory she's thought of it since it went down. Tucking the feeling next to her chest, it feels like putting the first piece of furniture back after it's been upended in a storm. Her other thoughts about the drinking—things she doesn't need to say because they both already know—are chased away.
"I'm sorry for what I've put you through," she lands on, because it feels significantly more necessary than a simple "thank you." A part of her wishes she were looking him in the eye, but his arms are comfortable, safe, and she trusts she'll have time for that later. His lips and breath vibrate against her hair, not quite a kiss, but close enough.
"I know I went about it wrong, but I meant it when I said that I can't lose you. Thank you for coming to me."
The words land softly and she nods against him. With nothing left to say, he waits until she's content to sit up. His thumb continues to brush hers, the only sounds the waves and their breathing.
Chris wants to live in this moment. Preparing herself to sit up is a monumental task, but she knows if she doesn't, she'll fall asleep. Her bones creak as she lets go of his leather jacket and pulls herself from his grasp, slow blood beginning to pump once more.
Quickly peeking at his watch shows him just past 10 and, while it's not that late, both of them are exhausted beyond measure. He offers her a hand to find her footing on the sand. She lets go, but wraps a loose grip around his wrist for the walk back to his bike.
"Do you want to stay at the house tonight?"
She does, or to invite him to stay at her place, but there's already so much swirling in her mind, that feels like adding another match to the fire.
"I think I'll be okay at the apartment," she gives him another quirked lip. "But can I come over after shift tomorrow? We can catch a movie or something, if Luca won't mind?"
"Luca won't mind," he assures her with his own smile. "I'd like that. In fact, here. I've got a spare at the house."
Slipping his house key off his key ring, he presses it into her waiting hand, letting the touch linger.
"You've got our place whenever you need it. Or if you just want to see Duke. We're gonna get through this."
She doesn't need to ask if he's telling the truth.
hello- 2 updates in as many days! i went back through some of these that i've started, and a bug bit me to finish this one. i know the ending is tonally similar to the last, but i think that the Erika arc is what we see affect Chris as much as Street's childhood affects him, so i think he'd be there for her just the same (but this is later in their relationship, so yay crossing some of those lines a bit). i was too excited about actually writing to wait to post this guy lol. please let me know what you think! and prompts are open for any episodes you'd like to see a coda of- i might start a rewatch soon :) ps, find me on tumblr streakyglasses! xo, A