tw: nightmares including gun violence, panic attack, disassociation


The sun is bright through the blinds on Saturday morning. Chris wakes up and wonders why she's alone before remembering that she asked to be. Her shoulders drop from relief. She reaches for the water next to her bed and finishes drinking just as her door opens.

"Good Morning, Chris," Dr. Richardson starts. "How are you feeling?"

She shrugs, taking the man in for what feels like the first time. "Fine, no worse."

"Good. Do you mind if I change your bandages? Your chart says they're healing well, I just want to see for myself."

Vaguely, she becomes aware of the fact that her bandages have been changed often, even though she doesn't remember it happening once. A sick feeling settles in her stomach, but she reminds herself that the hospital is safe and she's fine.

"Chris?"

"Yeah, sure." She says quickly.

Despite her attempt to avert her eyes, they catch sight of her wrist and it only makes her feel worse. The dressing reveals angry, jagged red lines that wrap around her skin, a jarring turn from the white bandages. She can still feel the cool metal keeping her bound, and has to bite back the instinct to rip her arm away now.

Dr. Richardson speaks to himself and nods approvingly as he rewraps the wound and moves to the other side. His fingers are warm and gentle as he works methodically over the burns and cuts, but she struggles not to get lost in the memory of other foreign touches.

"Just your incision from surgery left, okay?" He asks, waiting for her nod before pulling the bandage off.

"Any pain?" He asks, pressing around the area.

"It's fine." Chris says, though her body moves away. Dr. Richardson doesn't push.

"Good. Everything's healing well. I think you're ready to start light physical therapy. I'll page PT and someone will be in this afternoon, okay?"

That brings a small, but real, smile to her face.

"Yeah, thank you, Doctor."

He smiles back at her and says of course.

"Just remember to take it slow."


"Chris?" A new voice asks, paired with a knock on the door.

Chris's eyebrows raise as she observes a man walk in, not dressed in scrubs, but in a dark green polo and khakis with a name tag that reads Shane. He smiles at her and holds out his hand for a shake.

"I'm Shane, I'll be your physical therapist until we can get you out of here. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you." She says, looking at him expectantly. He gazes over her chart and murmurs to himself before putting it back at the end of the bed and looking up at her.

"Your recovery looks good. Today, I'm going to go through a few benchmark movements with you to see where you are, and we'll go from there. If anything hurts, stop. Got it?"

"Got it."

A series of stretches and flexing and reaching leaves Chris sore, but feeling more like herself. More capable, than she has in days.

"You're in a good spot. I'm sure your career has helped with that." Shane says with a smile. "Keep doing the breathing exercises; they'll help with your ribs and prevent an infection. Tomorrow, we can start with some light walking if you feel up to it."

"Sounds good, thank you."

A sense of giddiness overcomes Chris while she watches the door close. Her hand reaches out for her phone before she remembers that it's broken and in an evidence bag somewhere. Sighing, she hits the call button. A few minutes later, Stephanie enters.

"Hey, Chris, what do you need?"

"I know I asked for no visitors. Do you know if any of my team is here?" Stephanie gives her a knowing smile and nods.

"Officer Street has been in the waiting room for a while. I'll go get him."

Street comes bursting through the door like he hasn't seen Chris in weeks. Even with a good night's sleep, Street's first thought upon waking was her, and he hasn't been able to think of anything else since. Indescribable relief fills him the second he gets his eyes on her. He's in sweats and a hoodie with his first clean shave, she realizes, since she's woken up. It's all so unlike the uniform she's used to seeing him in, and it doesn't instill confidence in how he took care of himself while she was unconscious.

Her body relaxes of its own volition, though, once the door clicks shut and it's finally just the two of them. It's easier to breathe.

"Hey," Street says, a smile gracing his face. He finds the chair next to her, and his eyes flick to her hand and then back to her face. When Chris nods, he takes her hand in his.

"Hey. Where's everyone else?" She asks softly.

"They're on a job. Once it's wrapped up, they're going to head down here"

Her stomach flutters when she hears the team is on a case, without her, and without Street because of her, as relieved as she is that it's only the two of them. They can handle themselves, she reminds herself, but she hates being stuck in the hospital while they're running face-first into God knows what.

"What's the job?"

"Bank robbery with hostages downtown. It's a pretty big crew, so 20 and 40 Squad are both on it, and I hear bets are going around over which squad is going to collar more, if you want to get in on it."

"Why aren't you with them?" Chris's voice is guilty, and he squeezes her hand gently until she looks at him.

"They weren't happy about going. Now that you're awake, Hicks had to get us back on the normal rotation schedule. But someone was staying back regardless. I don't think I need to tell you why I volunteered."

She huffs, looking down at their hands and then back up at him. The room is colder in the daylight, without her team around, and she wants nothing more than to leave.

Street doesn't ask again how she's feeling or if she wants to talk. She's glad he isn't questioning her about why she kept them all out, afraid of the fact that there isn't a real answer.

That same hazy, unreal feeling that makes Chris's body feel like static starts to settle on her again. Trying to pinpoint where it comes from is useless, so she tries to ignore it instead. A shiver runs through her before she can stop it, though, so Street wraps his zip-up around her shoulders. Once she's settled on the pillows again, he's looking at her like she's the best thing he's seen.

"Kiss me?" She whispers, and Street doesn't have to be asked twice. Their lips meeting after so long takes a small weight off her chest, and when they part, she leans her forehead against his, breathing as deep as she can.

"I know I'm repeating myself, but thank you for finding me, for staying." Her voice breaks, Street's thumbs wiping under her eyes like she's made of glass.

"I don't know how you got through it, Chris, reading your statement… I barely could." He whispers, gravely with emotion.

Chris's breath catches and she hiccups painfully. Wincing, he rubs her back until it passes.

"I'm sorry," Street's stopped by her shaking her head.

"No. None of this is your fault. It's—I survived. I'm gonna be fine."

Part of her wants to spill her guts to him now. So much is swimming in her head, none of it clear, just flashes of memories and sensations that she knows her statement probably glazed over. Writing it all down helped temper them for a minute, but reality has been steadily creeping back in to the point of overwhelm.

Chris looks at their intertwined hands. Her stomach turns as she thinks, tears in her eyes.

"I just want to go home," she confesses again, so quiet Street has to lean down to hear her. The defeat in her tone, like she's slowly losing hope she'll ever get back to herself, breaks his heart all over again.

"You will soon." Street promises. She bites her lip and he sees her free hand shaking uncontrollably against the blanket.

"My apartment's a mess."

Gently, he shushes her and gives her fingers a squeeze.

"We'll take care of it."

Searching his eyes and finding nothing but the truth, she nods, although it does nothing to quiet the anxiety in her stomach.

"I'm not up to visitors." She murmurs, feels his thick swallow, and glances over to see how tightly he's clenching his jaw. Realizing, she puts a hand on his before he can stand.

"Not you. I mean the team."

Yesterday's conversation with Wendy about trying not to have expectations for herself, and trying not to project them, comes to mind, but she can't piece through the therapy talk so she muddles through getting her thoughts out and the guilt that follows.

"It's too many people, not that I don't love them."

"Hey," he curls a finger under her chin and brings her gaze to his. There's so much hurt in her eyes, scrapes and bruises still obscuring her skin that make his chest hurt, and all he wants is to make her smile. "You don't need to explain yourself. I'll tell them. I can go, too, if you want some time."

The corners of her lips quirk up and he counts that as a win, along with her shaking her head. Her IV line tugs when she brushes her hair out of her face.

"I want you here. I was scared I'd never see you again. When you're here, I know it's really over." She murmurs as tears press at the corners of her eyes and she groans. "Damn meds. I'm sorry."

He hates that she's struggling, but they both know how much pain she'll be in if she stops administering the doses. Running a soft hand down her head, careful of bruising, he says she has nothing to be sorry for.

"You're the strongest person I know, Chris. Anything you need right now is yours, and if that's crying then so be it. We're gonna get through this. I got you."

"Thank you," she whispers, smiling as he adjusts the blanket around her so she's more comfortable. With his help, they maneuver the pillows to support her and she rolls gently onto her side to face him. If she lets the edges of her vision blur, she can almost pretend they're in her apartment, and it helps her heart settle.

"Talk to me about something? Anything that isn't this?"

He thinks of safe topics: his bike, Annie's birthday plans, a new recipe to try, and cycles through them until her eyes fall shut. Sighing, he draws his gaze over her battered body and tries to keep his heart in his chest.

"I'm sorry I let them hurt you," he murmurs, holding her hand tighter. Under the exhaustion that sits on her heavy as an extra blanket, she manages to open half-lidded eyes.

"Hmm?" She hums, unsure if he said something important that she missed. The set of his jaw and concern in his eyes means she definitely did, but he doesn't repeat it, and she nuzzles into his hand when he cradles his cheek.

"You should get some rest, Baby." He says, giving her a dimpled, closed-lip smile.

"You'll stay?" She whispers, and he kisses her again as her answer.


"Alright, Chris, you're ready?" Shane asks her the following morning.

She nods, although she feels queasy when she looks up at the hopeful, smiling faces of 20-David. Her muscles are stiff from being so stationary. Her heart pounds against her sternum, but Deacon catches her eye and gives her a reassuring nod.

"Keep one arm around my waist and the other on that pole. We're going to stand on three. One. Two."

It feels childish, how proud and relieved she is once she's back on her own two feet, and how good the cheering from the team makes her feel.

"You're going to disturb everyone on the floor." Chris chides. All of them laugh, Shane included.

"It's okay. Keep that encouragement up— the hallway is about to become a lot longer than you remember. Ready?"

"Yes." She says, determined, as the pair begins to walk out of her room with the team whooping behind her.

They're halfway down when the fire in her ribs proves too much. Chris breathes shallow breaths through gritted teeth to try to keep the pain under control, but accepts the wheelchair when it's slid underneath her. The pole is warm from where she's been holding it, so Chris slides her hand down to a cold spot to focus on that sensation instead.

Shane says something next to her that she nods at, but doesn't hear.

"Deep breaths, Chris, breathe through it. Hold your ribs. I know it hurts. Good."

"Here, Chris," he says once he's back at her side, holding a water bottle out to her.

She takes it gratefully and downs half in one go, and then holds it up to her forehead in another effort to slow her body down. When she takes another swig, she lets it fill her mouth and sit there before swallowing, following it with a slow exhale. Shane is drawing circles on her back to help it go down, pulling his hand away when she sits back.

"I'm okay. I just need another minute and then we can finish."

Chris looks at Shane with a scrutinizing glare, daring him to challenge her, but he's spent enough time in his work to know who not to argue with, so he says okay.

"But Melinda is going to follow close behind with the chair, and if the pain flares up again, we stop. Deal?"

"Deal." Chris says, handing him back the water bottle and turning her hand over to grip the armrest. "Now help me up."

The second half of the hallway is even slower, but she's determined to make it back to her room on her own feet. She starts to hear chatter from the team when she's a few doors down, and that pushes her to finish. The team is standing when she meets them, and Shane lets her go so they can give her careful hugs before he helps her back into bed.

"Great work, Chris. I'll be back again tonight to do the breathing exercises. If you have someone else to help stabilize you, you can walk to the bathroom or to the other end of the room. Nothing excessive. I'll update your notes and Melinda can adjust anything from there."

Hondo hands her another bottle of water after Shane leaves, and she feels a blush creep up her face as they beam at her.

"You'll be passing your PFQs in no time!" Luca says, pulling a laugh from them that fills the room. She rolls her eyes at them, but can't keep herself from smiling what feels like her first actual smile in days.

"Good, everyone needs to be reminded how it's done."

"Ooh, smack talk, my favorite" Tan starts, squeezing her shoulder. "And you're absolutely right. 50-Squad could learn a thing or two from you."

"Oh, sure, 50-Squad." She retorts. Street looks at her as the conversation continues, observes her slowly becoming more relaxed, more sure of herself. She looks over when he runs a hand down her back, her eyes sparkling and he can't help himself from leaning in to kiss her. The team wolf-whistling in the background.

"Alright, love birds," Deacon says with a deep laugh, "the rest of us have to get back to work, but Annie and I will be here after shift tonight." Like a receiving line, they all lean down for quick hugs and fist bumps. Hondo is at the end, and she asks if he can hang back a minute as the rest file out.

"Any updates?"

"They all plead not guilty at their initial arraignment. That's to be expected. Preliminary hearings haven't been set yet, but a few are already in talks for deals. Huevo hasn't said a word since he got out of the hospital."

"How are the girls doing?"

Hondo smiles at her, pride creeping into his eyes.

"They're doing well, considering. Mama Pina took in two of them, and another safe house is looking after the other. We've gotten in contact with all of their families, so they should all be back together soon. Selena is great, safe as can be, thanks to you."

"And the— the man that Huevo shot?"

"Still no positive ID. If that changes, I'll let you know. But there's nothing you could've done, you know that, right?"

"Yeah," she says, a wad of emotion sticking in her throat. Street's hand slips into hers in silent understanding, a loving smile on his face when she glances at him that sends cool relief through her veins.

"Thanks, Hondo."


Chris is in the basement with the man tied to a chair across from her. He's flanked by José and Eric, and she can hear Huevo pacing behind her. The wood from the chair splinters into her when she tries to free herself.

"Here." Huevo spits. He shoves the gun into her hand and she looks at it like she's never seen a weapon before. It almost slips from her grip from her sweat.

"Shoot him."

Chris shakes her head, refusing to follow the command. He snarls and repeats the instruction, cracking his knuckles when she refuses again.

"You can shoot him, or I can shoot them."

Her head snaps to the door. In the dim light of the doorway, she can see the shadowy outline of four people. They're pushed closer. Her family.

"It's your choice." He says, and then watches her. Chris looks rapidly between the man and her family, every other part of her frozen. Her heartbeat is making her chest rattle, and hopelessness sits on her like an anchor. His men step closer, ripping the gun out of her hand and holding her head against the chair.

"Fine. I'll do it."

The gun passes from the men to Huevo who fires twice at the man like it's nothing. Chris flinches. He turns to her family.

The scream is in her throat but won't come out. She's frozen, helpless.

"This is your fault." He whispers to her, standing and pulling the trigger.

Chris shoots up in her hospital bed. She's freezing, she can't breathe, and before any nurses arrive or any lights turn on, her hands are at her throat in the hopes it will help her take a breath. She slams her eyes closed against all the sensations as gasps tear out of her, the machines going haywire next to her and pain overtaking everything else.

"Chris, you're okay, you're safe." She hears through the mess of other noises, accompanied by someone's hand on her back rubbing circles up and down. More footsteps and more voices come through, some telling her to breathe and others spouting out medical jargon she can't understand.

She knows she's crying and the tears only make it harder to calm down. Her heart is pounding against her ribs so hard she swears they break all over again. Any attempt to speak only leads to more cries and shaking, but she tries again because it has to come out. She has to tell someone what she saw.

"They're here to help you, Chris, it's okay. You're going to be okay."

Her neck is stiff as her head shakes no from side-to-side. Pain runs up her body in waves that she's not sure will ever stop. The hands on her sweat-slicked skin are gentle but feel rough with callouses; when another, unfamiliar, pair joins those on her opposite shoulder, she flinches away, the panic intensifying. She ends up throwing herself into his chest and Street holds her tightly. A silent prayer rolls on his lips to not hurt her, but his whole being is focused on holding her together.

She cracks open her eyes some time later and can just make out Street's concerned face. His hands find hers as he tries to help bring her down. It barely works, even as her nails dig into his palm hard enough to leave angry red marks. But whatever drug they administered does slowly drain the rest of the terror from her physical body. The machines start to get quieter.

Her hands fall limply to the blanket as she comes the rest of the way down, heart still beating wildly in her chest. When she opens her eyes, Street is sitting next to her, Stephanie is standing above her, and there's another nurse at the end of her bed. The hazy feeling returns but she's exhausted down to her bones and can't fend it off.

"You're alright Chris, you're doing good," Stephanie comments, watching her pulse reading slow down. They stand there for a few minutes until Stephanie nods to the other nurse, who jots a normal pulse down in her chart. With a last look at the pair, they see themselves out with a reminder to hit the call button if needed. Street throws an absentminded "of course" over his shoulder as the scrubs leave.

"Hey," He says. One hand is on her forehead and taking hers in the other. Her eyes adjust to the dim yellow light flooding over them.

"Hey. What time is it?" Chris asks, wincing from the pain of talking.

"Almost four in the morning. It's Monday morning." Street keeps his voice even despite his own rollercoaster of emotions flooding through him. She braces herself to sit back up, and does with a grimace.

"He was going to make me shoot him." She starts, voice soft and eyes unfocused. Street's head tilts, unsure of whom she's talking about, but he stays quiet for her to continue.

"I was in the chair and he kept shoving the gun into my hand and telling me to shoot him." His breath catches when her voice breaks, her hand shaking in his.

"Sh, Chris, you don't have to—" she cuts him off, again shaking her head.

"I wouldn't. I couldn't. He kept nodding and telling me it was okay. I don't even know his name. None of that was okay!"

The shaking takes over the rest of her body. It's slight, just enough for Street to feel the movement through the hospital blanket, and she buries her head in his shoulder to block everything else out. He remembers reading about it in her statement, and he couldn't imagine it then. To hear her talk about it now, the anguish and terror in her voice, breaks his heart and enrages him all over again. His only relief is that she's not keeping it all bottled up—he'll take on whatever she brings.

The pair sits a few minutes in silence until Street feels her pull back enough to mumble into the gray fabric of his tee-shirt.

"He had my family, too. In the nightmare. I don't… It's Mirabel…" She trails off, her mind reeling so she doesn't even know what she wants to say. Street shushes her again and whispers that it's all okay. Gently placing a finger under her chin, he lifts her face just enough to touch their foreheads together.

"Your family is safe. You can call them first thing in the morning, okay?"

She nods small, her eyes locked on his.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you," Street continues. "It's not your fault, none of it."

Chris nods again, swallowing and pulling back slightly. The motion results in a rattling cough and when she steadies herself on his arms, her grip is ice. Inhaling as deep as she can and exhaling to the count of ten like Shane told her, she feels her body settle and looks up at Street. He nods in understanding, rubbing her upper arms.

"You should try to rest more, yeah? I'll be right here."

She looks down towards her feet and scooches over, body protesting but she ignores it. Street looks at her, unsure.

"I don't think the nurses will care. C'mon, please."

He blinks first, but can't help smiling when she does as he adjusts around her. He's on his side with her head nestled in the crook of his shoulder, her hand resting under the hem of his shirt. His cologne envelops her in a familiar, soothing scent, making her feel the closest she has to home since she woke up. The tail end of the dream lingers around her like a fog, but sleep, thankfully dreamless, wins the war.


hey all! thanks for the love on both the last update and the little os i posted this will be the last update before surgery, so no promises as to when the next will come, but i do promise that it will come!

we're getting into the bulk of the story with a lot of moving parts, and honestly it's both the hardest to write and the scariest to publish bc it's the part i'm least confident in (fully a trap of my own design). that being said, this chapter does actually contain one of my favorite scenes i've written! and, fanfic is for fun- so come hell or high water, and mabe some editing, aost will live on.

wishing you good health and good days.

xo, A