"So, how about a drink?"
Chris freezes with her hand tight around the edge of her locker, the metal pressing into her palm. Fire licks up her core and out through her eyes as she turns to Street, anger and disbelief clouding her vision before she can really see him.
"Are you fucking kidding me? I thought we were done with this. And you think today is the best time to pull—"
"Woah, Chris," Street starts, hands out in surrender, and his tone soft enough that it actually does dampen the fire. His eyes are wide, moving fast across her face as he searches for the words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean like a date. I meant an 'it's been a hard day, take our mind off work as friends,' kind of beer. But you probably want to be alone. Forget I asked. Have a good night."
With that, he throws her a small, if pained, smile, and slings his bag over his shoulder. His fist is just closing around the cold doorknob when her voice resonates in the otherwise-empty room. The fire has gone from burning her alive to keeping her warm, her hand steadily loosening her grip on the locker, and she stops biting her lip to speak before the nerves get the better of her.
"Wait!"
Street turns to face her, and she could die in the moment she sees his eyes.
"A beer sounds good."
A genuine smile comes over him, crooked and accented with dimples, and he shifts his weight to the balls of his feet to keep from reacting too physically. Lifetimes seem to pass in the second she speaks and he responds.
"Al's? Half-price nachos."
He sings a little as he speaks. It feels good to laugh when she hears it, rolling her eyes out of habit more than malice. Glancing at her locker, she still needs to finish packing her bag and straightening up. He catches on immediately, not surprised she does need a moment alone.
"Take your time, I'll meet you there."
The door swings shut before she can even think of what to say, leaving her alone with an open locker and an indecipherable mash of feelings in her stomach. But it's an enticing kind of danger she can hear her guts telling her to back away from, and it seems stupid to feel like it's dangerous at all when he is the one who specified they're just friends. More than that, she can't help but comb through the memories of her relationship with Thompson, remembering how there was never a time when he waited for her.
Even Ty and Kira, as much as she genuinely likes them, often accept at the first hint of a long case that she won't make it to date night, and go without her.
It's nice to have someone waiting for her—to trust that he'll be there when she arrives—and she's had too shitty of a day to force herself to dissect that before letting herself accept it. They're friends. It's a beer. Easy.
The nice thing about driving a motorcycle is that Street can't think of anything else when he's on the road. Wind whips past him, cars and high-rises whizzing by, and with it all he feels pure exhilaration.
The high continues even after he parks and heads inside, but starts to fizzle away as the reality of what he asked returns. Just a beer. Just friends.
He wants more.
But he sets that aside for right now, and instead commits himself to his original intention of getting her mind off things. Giving her space to set aside some of the pressure, he's learned, she's hell-bent on putting on her own shoulders.
Pool balls clack against each other and glasses clink as he walks through the bar to find an empty high-top. He offers small, easy smiles to the women who work to catch his eye, but keeps his path straight and his shoulders forward. There's a table near the back, and he catches the eye of a waitress as he sets his hand on the vaguely-sticky surface.
Wrinkling his nose, he grabs a napkin to wipe it down, and balls it up as the waitress arrives.
"Hey! I'm Lea. Sorry—I'll grab a rag. What can I get for you?"
"Jim, and that would be great, thanks. I'll have a Sierra Nevada, and steak nachos, extra queso. Two plates, please."
"Got it. I'll be right back."
Street sighs as she goes, stretching his neck and taking stock of what's around him. The truth of the day is heavy on him, too, and he can't help but try to sort through what happened to figure out why Thompson and Wong would do what they did.
Money's the easy answer—it always is—but it puts a bitter taste in his mouth nonetheless. After everything he's been through with his badge, he can't imagine risking it for anything, let alone exploiting the entire community he's meant to serve. Chris's words come back to him. His stomach turns.
"Alright," Lea returns. "Here's your beer, and let me just—" she reaches over the table, and he lifts his elbows up for her to clean it, smiling at her bright smile when she's done. "Nachos will be another few minutes. Anything I can get you in the meantime?"
A familiar truck grabs his eye, having to circle the block to find a parking spot, and his smile widens.
"Modelo with lime."
Lea raises her eyebrows.
"Oh, no," Street rushes, wondering if anything right will come out of his mouth today. "My friend just got here. We had a bit of a day."
"Ah," she nods, tapping her nails on the table. "I'll be right back, then."
He murmurs his thanks, but his focus is solely on finding Chris once she walks in. He shoots off a quick text that he's got a table towards the back when Lea brings the beer, and a few minutes later he sees her denim jacket open the door.
"Hey," she smiles small when she reaches him. Distracting himself with his beer while she takes off her jacket, he feels the cold condensation under his palm and studies the pattern on the label. A small huff escapes as she pulls herself onto the chair and gets settled, smirking but lighting up at the beer. "Thanks."
He tilts his bottle towards in her a faux-cheers. She squeezes the lime and shoves it through the opening, and he laughs softly when she wipes the sticky juice on her jeans. Her shoulders are finally starting to relax, jaw unclenching as she savors the first sip, and then he does clink the necks of their bottles for fun.
"You did good today," she opens the conversation, allowing herself the comfort of their bubble. "How does it feel being back?"
"Good, really good," Street exhales. He stares at his hands for a moment before finding the courage to meet her eyes, and takes in the swirling browns and golds therein. "Thank you, Chris. For having my back this entire time. And I'm—"
"You don't have to—"
"And I'm sorry again for how I treated you. You never deserved that."
The apology washes over Chris and she finds herself unsure of what to say. Shrugging it off will only egg him on, but telling him she'll always have his back will muddy already-murky waters. Her ring taps against the bottle, lime and hops mixing in her mouth.
"You're welcome," she says with a resolute nod and the hint of a grin. "And thank you; I'm glad you're back. Although I'm sure Tony misses you."
"Don't be so sure of that," he chuckles. "He said his blood pressure was high at his last physical because of me."
Chris laughs back, and it's better and brighter than any of the lusty eyes and red lips that he's seen locked on him in his periphery.
"SWAT will do that. It makes danger seem normal and normal seem boring."
"Okay, nachos with extra queso," Lea cuts in. The platter is bigger than both of their wide-eyed gazes, but the second she sets down the plates and excuses herself, they dig in.
"Plates?" Chris asks with a raised eyebrow, forgoing one altogether. She pops the bite into her mouth, catching a falling piece of steak in her other hand and using that as a chaser, and leans back in her seat, letting the day fall off her shoulders.
"Hey," he teases, although he does the same. "I might've been a foster kid but that doesn't mean I don't have manners. They were beat into me, actually."
He catches her wince but he doesn't mind—if his life can take her mind off hers, then so be it. But she doesn't give him one of those pitying looks other people do, the kind that says I'm sorry that happened, but you're making me uncomfortable by talking about it. She flashes him a smile that puts the skyline to shame, and steals another bite.
"Not me. Youngest of five, thirty something cousins. In our house, dinner was elbow and knees. No plates necessary."
He doesn't respond in favor of another bite, and it isn't long before they're staring at a plate of crumbs, and their empty bottles have been replaced with full ones. The bar has gotten louder the later it's become, more bachelor or bachelorette parties and sports fans, and Chris gazes over all of them. Her eyes stop on couple after couple, feeling more like her twenty-six-year-old self with every kiss. The weight that Street's gentle eyes and mindless conversation managed to break down is steadily creeping back in.
"Chris?" He says, trying to catch her attention when he notices how zoned out she is. "Chris?"
"What? Sorry. Yeah, I'm fine."
"I'm glad to hear that," he taps his fingertips against the side of the bottle, trusting their bond to withstand his borderline teasing. "But I didn't ask. What's going on in that mind of yours?"
"Nothing," she says immediately, examining a fork all too closely. Sighing, he reaches a hand across the table and sets it on hers. The cold makes her shiver but it's secondary to the electricity firing off through her nerves. He takes it away the second she looks up at him, but pushes further still.
"Manners aside, you definitely grew up in a household without lying, because you're terrible at it."
Only with you, she thinks, before promptly shoving it to the back of her mind and padlocking it.
"Come on, I owe you for how much you were my sounding board with everything. What's one more round?"
Debating how likely she is to actually get out if she tries to leave, and unable to place the buzzing in her stomach when she thinks about going to see Ty and Kira, she sighs and crosses her arms on the table. A couple laughs across the way, her eyes glancing over briefly, and then she finds him again.
"Just thinking about Thompson."
"Your relationship?"
Chris nods, finishes the rest of her beer, and sucks in a breath.
"I knew something was up, and I didn't confront him, or report it. I should've." She starts, attempts to ignore the more insidious feeling swirling in her stomach like she was able to in the midst of the chaos earlier, but it's getting harder.
"You can't blame yourself, Chris. They were responsible for themselves and they abused the badge, not you. And you didn't have proof." He echoes what Captain Cortez told her, but it only chips away at her facade.
"I could've gotten it." She shoots back. Her knuckles go white around the bottle, shoulders tensing for a moment before she deflates completely. "I could've, and I should've. I just didn't want to believe that anything was wrong. I was one of the few women there, and everyone, including the other women, already whispered about me; I didn't want them adding that I was a terrible judge of character."
"Chris—"
"They would've." She cuts him off, gaze firm as he tries to find what he's missing. "Thompson, he—" she clenches her fists and her jaws, rolling her eyes at the memory.
"At least when he was around me, he would give people this look when they'd make comments or stare, or glare. But I'm not an idiot—the second he was gone, and I'm sure the second we both were, that mill kept Glassell Park well-fed. Once I transferred out, too, I'm sure. Can only imagine what they came up with for why we broke up, or what Thompson told them."
"What did you tell him?"
"That I wanted to make SWAT and I needed to do it alone."
"And you did." He tries to impress upon her. "Going public against them on nothing but a hunch, that could've tanked you."
"Probably. But I couldn't deny after I left that dating him was what kept me from following my gut. I should've known better in the first place to never even get into it. He just… he made me feel important," she shudders and sighs, the walls of the bar closing in. "And I thought he would help me make LAPD my place. That was all I wanted so badly, I completely missed how cloudy things could get until it was already fucked. Crossing lines…"
"Letting your guard down." Street finishes. His heart constricts in his chest, the people around them blurring a bit as the weight of the realization sinks in, especially at her nod and how she won't meet his eyes. He wishes she would, hand twitching to touch hers again. "You can't blame yourself for not knowing what was going to happen."
"I can," she counters. "I should. It might not be a big part, but my choices are a part of why people are dead. Maybe if they weren't, things would be different—I could handle the whispers or whatever—but now… I have to own up to it even more than before. The only way to do that is by staying alone."
He refrains from voicing that there's no way he'd be sitting across from her if he tried to get back to SWAT on his own. Somewhere deep in there, he's sure the inverse metaphor works, but she's said her piece and it's clear it won't matter.
"I know I can't understand what it's like to be in your position, personally or professionally," he says instead, "but I've seen the effect you've had on the people we've saved. This city is better off because you're a part of SWAT. I—Twenty Squad is. I get what happened with Thompson wasn't pretty, and it's undeniably a part of what got you to where you are, but it's only a small part, and you're where you're supposed to be. You've gotta count up your credits, too."
"And," he finishes his beer, bitter until he catches her gaze, "I'm sorry for all the shit you have to deal with. I'm sorry that I made it worse."
"Thank you," she shoots off quickly, body struggling to process everything he just said. How he looks at her, and all of a sudden she's completely transparent like she's never been with anyone else. She wishes she could lean into how comfortable it could make her instead of how utterly distressing it all is.
(Because maybe he's right about her. And maybe if they weren't colleagues, and he approached her in a bar like this and asked to buy her a drink, she would say yes. Maybe he'd drop the cocky front like he has over time, and so she'd drop her act, too. Maybe she could break free from the staunch black and white she forces herself into for her own protection, and exist in the gray for once.)
A glass shattering and a crowd of drunken reactions rips her back to reality. Blazing heat rushes through her as her eyes dart around the space and see he's still looking at her. She doesn't know how long she sat there, silent and staring, but covers it up with the best smile she can.
"That does mean a lot. I'm glad you fixed things, for the team, and with me."
Stars in his eyes, Street takes a quick sip of his beer and looks down at the opening to hide the look on his face when he smiles. "Me too. I won't make any more messes for you to clean up, promise."
"I'll hold you to that." She laughs, and relief floods through him.
"I'd expect nothing less."
She flutters her soft lashes down, and in the last dregs of beer swirling in the green bottle, the last of her shame and confusion fall away, at least for now.
"Hey," she breaks the silence, eyes darting down to his hand wrapped around his own bottle, and then to his bright irises. He raises his eyebrows. "Thank you for this."
His lips open into a warm grin, and he takes in the neon signs plastering the walls again. How the lights catch her jawline and glints off her jewelry.
"You're welcome. Thanks for… letting me in."
She nods and finishes her beer, hoping it covers the stuttering of her heart so he doesn't know he's been in for a while now.
"Alright, you two, anything else?" Lea's cheery voice floats through their growing electric tension. They share a glance, and then Street flashes her a smile.
"I think we're all set," he reaches for his wallet. Catching Chris doing the same, he hands Lea the plastic before she can even get hers out, and narrows his eyes. "I said it was on me. And that means I'm not letting you cover the tip, either."
Rolling her eyes staves off how light the air around her has become, and she waves her hand as she leans back in the barstool. Her phone rings just as he gets the check back and scrawls over the receipt.
"Fine. Thank you, Street." And then, "Hey, Deac, what's up? Shit, really?! We're on our way—Street's with me. We'll be right there."
By the time the call is over, she's out of her seat and half into her leather jacket with her keys in her free hand.
"What's wrong?" He asks, putting his jacket on with the same urgency. But she turns to him and she's smiling, really smiling. The words tumble out of her so fast, he almost misses them.
"Annie had the baby. She's doing great, they both are. We get to go meet my goddaughter!"
"Are you serious?"
"Yes, c'mon!" She urges him on, not waiting for his permission to reach back and grab hold of his hand to wind them through the bar. Her touch is almost enough to stop him in his tracks, but her energy pulls him forward until they're back onto the sidewalk with fresh air and revving engines.
It pains him to let her go, but he has to when she starts for her truck, heart jumping when she turns back to look at him.
"Bike's this way," he grins, "but I'll meet you there."
Chris lights up even brighter.
"Meet you there!"
hey y'all! thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed this one!
i know i went in pretty heavy handed with the title and the work itself, but i would like to offer the double meaning for chris in her relationship with thompson, but also the undeniability of her relationship with street and how he's messing up her entire would've/could've/should've mentality. (if that makes sense). this one was originally titled "but, lord, you made me feel important," but then i decided to lean more into the stris of it all instead of chris's relationship with thompson, and i'm quite happy with how it turned out tbh!
2x15 really shows us how much chris expects of herself and puts into perspective a lot of her career worldview, and we only see her adding more and more pressure/self-blame to that pile as time goes on (which i love, because then street gets to try to talk her out of it). it's such a great episode for understanding her character, and, though they wrap it up with everyone at the hospital, i like to think her and Street would have a longer conversation about the events of the day at some point. (plus, this way i got to make the new baby a happy event instead of a stressful one like the show frames it as lol). i love leaning into the later episodes because their relationship by that point is so intimate, but the early days when they're still figuring themselves/the other out, still not the expert on the other that they'll become, there's so much humor and platonic love to be had in those moments, too, so i hope you all enjoy them, also
comments/kudos appreciated. i'm not sure what episode i'll work on next, but i do still have a giant list to go.
love you all, xo, A