For as independent as Chris is, being in a healthy, loving relationship with Jim Street means she can no longer hide one of her biggest desires behind walls of steel and fiery eyes.
To be held.
She's always been liberal with physical touch, having no problem hanging off any of her former 20-Squad members when they hang out or slinging an arm around her family after dinner. Street caught on early and took full advantage. It was easy in Black Betty's close quarters, their legs and shoulders often brushing, and he wedged himself into her space around the table in Command during important debriefs. Her effort had to split between paying attention and not showing him how calm his warmth made her.
He only gets clingier after they get together and he has full freedom to. His arms snake around her as she stands at the stove or the fridge, and their hands fit like puzzle pieces whenever they're out together. She indulges him, tucking away how happy it makes her, and their shared smiles tell the other that they both know what's going on, but neither are going to call it out.
But the old habit of independence is one that still flares whenever Chris doesn't feel well. Be it a sniffle or a hospital stay, the last thing she wants is anyone to see her weak, beyond her own sensibilities. So when one of the worst periods she's had in recent memory falls upon her, all her instincts scream at her to hole up alone in her room and ride out the waves in isolation.
She wakes with a groan on the second morning of it. Her cramps are already attacking her muscles, making it hard to sleep even though there's another half hour before her alarm goes off. Hot water provides some relief, though not enough to squeeze herself into jeans when her leggings are clean. Despite not having Street stay over, secretly glad he drew the short stick on babysitting a minor drug runner in interrogation, his hoodie is still there from a few nights ago, and she tugs it on like it's hers.
Have a good day, love you. She shoots off the text, downs two painkillers, and holds back a groan when her body protests the weight of her backpack on her shoulder. Sighing, she grabs her keys from the hook and heads to her truck, hoping it's an easy day at the safe house.
Between her physical discomfort, the stress of 20-Squad's mission as it played out on the news, and Marcos deciding it's the perfect day to test her patience with the ridiculous claim that she can't defend the safe house by herself if need be, it is not an easy day. Chris's last hope clings on changing into sweats and curling up in bed with her lavender candle lit and some of her secret chocolate stash. Maybe, if she's still feeling this shitty by the time she gets home, a good cry and a comfort movie.
Her plan crumbles when she spies Street's bike in the parking garage. Suddenly, her anxiety spikes as her head starts spinning with ways to not show him how bad she's feeling.
Not that he doesn't know—her mortification at having to ask him to get her extra box of tampons from the guest bathroom still enough to make her cheeks burn red and hot—but it's never been this bad. Under mounting exhaustion, she doesn't have the energy to grant it too much thought, and settles for muddling through the night of her hormones wreaking havoc on her, with elbows and knees if she has to, quietly.
"Hey, Babe!" Street calls from the kitchen as soon as he hears the door open. "Lasagna's almost done."
Glancing over his shoulder, he notices the tight set of her smile and the slight flush on her cheeks. He narrows his eyes but she's down the hallway too fast for him to notice much else. His worry grows when she hasn't returned five minutes after the oven dings, and the dish is abandoned on the stove while he quietly closes one of the cabinets after slipping something into his pocket, and knocks lightly on her door.
As hard as she tries, her walls tumble down the moment she's in the comfort of her bedroom. She doubles over, gripping the vanity for strength, when a new wave of cramps crashes over her in the bathroom, and she can't lie to herself enough to think anything sounds appetizing. Her intentions are still to change and go meet Street at the table, but she sits on the edge of her bed for a second to gather herself, and winds up under the covers before she can stop herself.
"Chris? Baby?" He says through the door. "Can I come in?"
The groan-whimper that escapes as she curls into an even tinier ball is all the answer he'll accept, pushing the door open. His face softens at the sight of her, laughing at how she tries to bury herself under the covers like that will keep him from seeing her.
A big part of him wishes she could just let herself accept the comfort she gives everyone else, but he respects and loves the fighter in her too much to ever make an issue of it. Instead, he parks himself on the edge of her bed and pulls a small piece of chocolate out of his pocket, the crinkle catching her attention.
"Think this'll help?" He teases, smile growing at the furrow of her brows. "I may've hid in the hallway after the last grocery trip until I saw your hiding spot."
"You're the worst," she says gruffly, but rips open the wrapper and savors the sweetness all the same. It's a salve on her heart. Nerves calming at his correct read on the situation, he drops a kiss to her forehead and stands.
"I'll be right back."
He keeps his promise, and brings a laundry list of items with him. A tub of chocolate covered almonds is set next to a mug of peppermint tea on her nightstand. Fishing around the drawer, he exclaims victory when his hand curls around the familiar plastic of a lighter that he uses to light the candle on her dresser so a light layer of lavender fills the space, enough to soothe but not make eyes water. Finally, he plugs in the heating pad and hands it to her to adjust it to where she wants, and then pulls back her comforter to drape the lush green quilt, something Helena knit before she was born that's long been her favorite blanket, in its place. The comforter does cover that, but she fists the knit up to her neck, settling into it.
Satisfied that she's taken care of and sure she wants a few moments, he leaves her again, just long enough to eat. The lasagna is as delicious as he expected, and he's glad she'll have something hearty whenever she does feel like eating. With a bottle of water tucked under his arm, he heads back to her room, not even bothering with a knock this time since he heard the familiar dun dun come down the hallway.
She's half-propped on the pillows, the cord of the heating pad making it clear she's situated it over her stomach. The empty bowl and mug are a relief, and he wastes no time sliding in next to her. Relishing the feeling of being in bed with her, a feeling that will never get old no matter the circumstance, he lets the weight of his own day fall off into nothing.
"Do you need anything else?" He murmurs, and kisses her head.
"No, thank you." Chris's voice is small, an edge of shame to her tone, and he just pulls her from the pillows to lean against him, and meets their lips again.
"Let me know if you do. Law and Order, really?"
Nudging him, she gives up quickly in favor of crossing her legs over his. His arm around her is the nicest thing she's felt all day, she realizes, and the only thing she wants to feel for the foreseeable future.
"Don't make fun of me." She mumbles into his shoulder, eyes fixed on the screen. He finds one of her hands and intertwines their fingers, squeezing.
"I wouldn't dream of it." When he tries to part them so he can draw tender circles on her stomach, she lets out a noise of protest and tightens her grip. He switches to grazing his thumb over her knuckles, a motion as constant as the waves.
They make it halfway through the episode until a new knot forms inside her lower abdomen and she curls forward, struggling to breathe deep and slow. Street follows her body with his, as if he can form a wall of protection around her.
"I'm sorry, Baby," he whispers in her ear. "It'll pass."
She focuses on his voice and nods. Gritting her teeth, it takes a moment but it does pass, and she straightens up with a low breath. His fingers rake through her hair while her bones creak back into place.
"Thanks." She whispers, hating the tears in her voice but not enough to try to fight them. And then she adds, "for being here."
Cradling her face, heart swelling at how she leans into his touch, he finds her gaze and pours as much love as he can through his own.
"I'll always be here. I love you."
Their limbs tangle until she's swathed in his embrace, his presence around her as soft a cloud that fills all her cracks and turns them to gold. She cracks a small smile as old habits start to thaw.
"I love you, too."
hi, all! thank you for reading- i hope you enjoyed!
this is actually the first (!) tumblr prompt i ever filled, i just only posted it there and never here. better late than never, right 😅 it's a short little piece that hopefully captures their characters well. i'd love to know what you think- comments/kudos wildly appreciated 💕
title is modified from "ordinary love" by ben rector- also the title of the last little prompt! highly recommend
until next time! xo, A