TW: physical (non-sexual) assault, aftermath of violence.
"Goodnight, get some real rest! We'll be back on it tomorrow."
"Goodnight!" They echo back, Chris slinging her backpack over her shoulder with a wince and holding a hand out for Street's as soon as they're outside HQ. He can feel how tense she is and risks a glance to find her looking straight at her truck, the other hand white-knuckling her backpack strap.
"You're sure you don't want to stay at the house tonight?" He asks once they reach her truck. She opens the door, throws her bag across the seat, and then turns around to Street's arm blocking her in. Sighing, she slumps against the truck's frame and shakes her head, leaning into his touch when he massages her shoulder gently over her denim jacket.
"I doubt I'm getting much sleep until all the girls are safe and we get Huevo back behind bars. I just need to think. There's no reason for you to be up all night, too." It's obvious how much this is weighing on her, and he wants to say more but can tell she needs space so he concedes, kissing her softly instead and letting his lips linger.
"We'll bring them home, okay? I'll see you in the morning. Drive safe." She nods at him, stepping into her truck and turning the key.
"Don't forget, tomorrow's Wednesday— your turn to bring coffee," she says with a smile he sees right through.
Her drive home is, thankfully, painless. There isn't too much traffic, and the buzz of the radio is just enough to keep her awake without inducing a headache. She hisses in pain when her bad leg hits the cement, bracing herself on the side of her truck to breathe through it, and regrets for a moment turning down Street's offer to stay at his place.
She walks on heavy feet into her complex, her hand finding the elevator button to go up and shooting off a text to Street that she's home on the way. Unlocking the door, a chill runs through her, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, and her eyes becoming more alert. Something isn't right, she thinks, but nothing looks amiss. Her hand travels to her gun, preemptively.
"Hello? LAPD, show yourself!" She yells, but the only response is her own voice amplified.
Her eyes trail over her living room, the dirty dishes still in the sink, the plant on the windowsill. Down to the shoes next to her front door, everything is in its place. When she pauses, she's met with silence, and decides that it's more likely the fatigue of the day creating things that aren't there.
She waits again at her bedroom door, cautious, but there's no noise from within and it looks as it did hours ago. Letting her shoulders relax, Chris throws off her jacket and sets down her backpack and gun on the bed, turning to start the shower.
She looks even worse under the fluorescent light. There's a small cut above her lip, and the delicate skin under her eyes is purple and blue from the weight of the past few days. Her fingers dance over her face until a thump catches her attention.
It's low, could be something falling off a shelf in her closet or her neighbor moving furniture, but she doesn't get the chance to look, because the second time she hears the noise, it's followed by her bathroom door being slammed open.
Two men with masks and gloves shove her further into the room. Her back hits the glass shower door, and she scrambles to get low, hoping she can squeeze out underneath them, but then one of them has her by the neckline. Her forehead meets the door frame, red running down the white trim. The hit knocks the wind out of her, making her gasp. She kicks them off, managing to get to her knees and trying to reach for her phone. They knock it out of her hand, the screen cracking against the tile, and kick her in the ribs for good measure.
Taking her by the elbow, she's ripped to her feet, her body screaming in protest, and a voice spits in her to walk, the gun pressing into her side serving as extra motivation. Her eyes flit across the bedroom, and then look down to the man on her side and the one behind her, breathing deeply.
Chris throws her head back, connecting her skull with the man's chin, and throws his body into his partner's, going for her gun. A wrist locking around her ankle brings her to the ground, her hand just able to wrap around the leg of her nightstand and drag it forward. Whatever falls, she throws, hoping something will hit one of them hard enough to draw blood, so at least they'll have some DNA to analyze. She feels the cool, square frame of her family picture, but doesn't make to look at it as she throws it corner-first away from her.
The last thing she has is a lamp. She struggles to rip the cord loose from the wall, the men getting back to their feet and coming towards her, guns drawn. The click of the safety going off turns her blood to ice, and she says a prayer as the metal meets her head.
"Boys!" A voice yells. It sounds farther off than the men's heavy breathing, and she dares turn her head to see another man standing in her doorway. Light reflects from the gold around his neck and on his fingers. He clicks his tongue like he disapproves of the scene before him, stepping closer. Her eyes are watery as he kneels down next to her.
Even in the darkness she can make out his eyes— small, brown, and sinister— and her brain just registers who he is before she feels the sharp, cold metal of his gun whip across her temple.
Street wakes up at 5:55, a few minutes before his alarm normally goes off, and groans, letting his head fall back onto his pillow. The buzz of his phone a few minutes later brings him back to the land of the living, and he stretches after he rolls out of bed. Luca is already awake and moving about the kitchen, his playlist filling up the hallway when Street opens his door.
He smiles at his roommate when he gets to the kitchen. Pouring out the leftover water from the previous day, he sticks it under the fridge dispenser and shakes his head when Luca offers him a burrito.
"I'm getting coffee, I'll grab a sandwich there, but thank you." Luca rolls his eyes, lets something slip about suiting himself and saving money, but then yells his order out at Street.
"Yeah, yeah!" Street shouts back, shrugging on his leather jacket. "I'll see you at HQ!"
Revving the engine of his bike, he sends a quick text to Chris before sticking his phone back in his pocket.
Hope you slept well, see you soon.
"Finally!" Deacon says as soon as the locker room door swings open to reveal Street. The younger officer laughs, setting the cup-holder on the bench before putting his bag in his locker. Looking around, he notices Chris's distinct absence, and worry runs through him since he knows she wasn't in the ring either.
"No Chris yet?" He asks, trying to keep his voice level. Tan and Deacon both shake their heads.
"No, we thought she might have texted Hondo about taking a day with her leg, but he hasn't said anything." Deacon tells him. He nods, reaching for his phone and looking at her locker.
You okay?
"It's probably nothing, I'm sure she'll be in soon, or let us know why she isn't." Tan says, and Street wishes he could believe that.
The clock ticks like molasses, each passing moment, Street becoming more and more aware of who is not at HQ. Not in the ring with Luca, or at the range, or even in the armory, and his concern grows.
"Hey, Street, wait up!" Hondo calls as soon as he sees the younger officer, a few minutes later. "Have you heard from Chris this morning?"
"No. Why, is something up?" Street tries to tamp down the worry before it bubbles over, but a quick tremor runs through his hand.
"She hasn't shown for shift yet. I want you and Tan to swing by her apartment, just make sure everything's okay."
Street nods, "Tell him to meet me out here. I'll let you know if we find anything."
He makes a left back to the parking lot instead of a right to the locker room, walking even though he wants to run. Shooting off a quick text, "good morning, got your coffee," he hopes that a response will quell all of their worry.
Tan's silence does nothing to reassure Street. He thought his friend might have some insight, some surprise she couldn't tell him about, but Tan's knuckles are white, and his jaw is clenched as he pulls up to her apartment complex. Street knows him well enough now to know when he's really freaking out, and he can tell that this situation is becoming more fraught by the moment.
"Her truck's still here." Tan observes, both of their stomachs sinking further.
Their eyes shift analytically over the narrow hallway, but everything looks as it always does until they come to her door and find it unlocked. Drawing their guns and pushing down the panic, they open the door and clear the entire apartment, save her bedroom, hidden behind a closed door.
"Cover me." Street says, and Tan nods at him. Street exhales, turning the handle and feeling his heart stop at the sight of her disheveled room. Broken lightbulb glass covers her nightstand, the book she was reading turned over on the floor beside it. Her backpack has clearly been rifled through, its contents spilling out the side, and her gun sits abandoned on the other side of the room as if it were tossed away from her. What makes Street's vision tunnel is the picture of her family in a newly-cracked frame, and he digs his nails into his palm as he struggles to breathe.
"Hey, Street, something you need to see!" Tan shouts, the fear sitting at the top of his voice snapping Street out of himself. Tan's so focused on the bathroom that Street has to set a hand on his shoulder and move him to the side so he can get a look, immediately feeling all of his own blood drain from his face. A few holes dot the wall, clearly from something hitting it, hard. Dark streaks of red run down the wall and over the tile, settling in the grout. Blood. They can't be certain it's hers, but they can't be certain it's not, either.
They are certain she's gone.
"I'm calling Hondo." Street says as he pushes his way out of the bathroom, runs a hand over his face before dialing. Tan stays behind and looks for anything else in her bedroom that might tell them where she is or what happened, grimacing when he sees her phone with a slew of missed calls and unread texts.
Deacon, Luca, Hondo, and Hicks are in Command, waiting for an update and praying that it's something simple, like she's sick and her phone's dead.
"I don't like this." Luca says, to no one in particular. As much as he wants to believe everything is fine, his intuition has been finely honed after decades of his own time, plus his family's time, on the force. He knows it isn't.
Hondo picks up the second his phone rings, letting Street know he's there with the rest of the team on speaker. He doesn't miss the fear in his team member's voice.
"She's gone. There are signs of a struggle, blood in her bedroom. Her backpack, phone, and gun are still here, but someone went through her backpack. We need a unit to come dust for prints." The four men share a look, worries growing by the second, especially as Street's voice becomes more breathy.
"Are there any signs or clues as to who would've broken in? Footprint outlines, hair, anything that could've fallen off someone?"
"We can run the blood." Tan's terse voice comes through.
"You two need to come back in. We'll send out a unit now and get a plan together at HQ." Hondo sighs, hanging up when they agree and knowing what Hicks is going to say before he says it.
"We have to pull Street from the case. He's too close, and it could cost us."
"Commander," Hondo starts, voice certain, "We're all too close, which is why I think we need to keep Street on. We can keep an eye on him at HQ and give him something productive to do. If we pull him, he's only going to pace around and lash out at everyone. We all want to find Chris, he's one of the best resources we have to do that."
Hicks takes a moment to digest what Hondo said, the three members of 20-David sharing a look of agreement. After a beat, Hicks gives in.
"He's on a tight leash. One misstep, we pull him. I need to call her family, you three start digging in every corner until we find this son of a bitch." Hicks says, stepping out to go back to his office. Hondo says thank you and turns back to the rest of the team.
Street's eyes are red when he walks back into HQ, Tan's hand on his shoulder. The rest of the team is standing in Command, whispering between themselves, when the door opens and the officers walk in. They want to rush to comfort one another, but they all know there's nothing that can be said that will make this better.
"Alright," Hondo speaks up, voice steady in the face of this nightmare, and all eyes fall to him. "Luca and Tan, you're going back to her apartment complex. Canvas, knock on every door, see if anyone heard or saw anything that could be useful. Deacon, CSI should be bringing everything over for processing soon. Go through it, call if anything turns up. If there's any DNA that's not hers, that's going to be our best bet at finding her. Street, you and I are going to stay here and go through every file of every case she so much as breathed on."
Looking at each other, the men nod and separate, but Hondo's arm around Street's bicep keeps him from going far. Once the door closes, he turns back around to face Hondo.
"Street, listen to me. I know this is a lot. We've agreed to keep you on the case for now. Give you something to do that will help bring Chris home, but if either one of us or yourself thinks it's becoming too much, you've got to take a step back. You hear me?"
Street nods, afraid if he opens his mouth to speak, he'll puke.
hello! well, this is the monster of a fic that i've been referencing for months (and started over a year ago). to be completely honest, i'm terrified to put it out into the world, and that i may not finish it, but there's no better time than the present. updates will be sporadic but hopefully not more than 2 weeks between chapters (which i know is a long time and i thank you all in advance lol). the content of this fic is/will be quite graphic, primarily through the first 5 chapters. i completely understand if it's not your speed and you pass on this one! i'm so thankful for the continual support and engagement on my fics from this fandom, and will continue to public other fics in between chapters that are my typical levels of h/c, etc. and i'm still working on some fun, fluffy summer fics! comments/kudos appreciated. i'm excited to see what y'all think now that i'm finally getting the ball rolling on this guy. all my love and well wishes. xo, A