1. Hanging a Banner
"Now that's just sad." Chris smirks as she rounds the corner with a cooler clearly marked 'adults only.' Tan, Street, and Luca snap their heads to her, leaving the crumpled 'Happy Birthday Lila!' banner in a heap at their feet.
"You got a better idea?" Luca asks. Feigning to think on it, she sets down the cooler and slides it across the Kay's concrete patio until it's against the siding, then claps the dirt off her hands to rest them on her hips.
"A ladder?"
"Broken." Street counters immediately, the early afternoon sun lighting up his cheekbones and deepening the shadows of his dimples when he smiles. "Apparently in a Christmas-decoration-putting-away related accident."
"That's why I rent. Ground-level storage only." Tan offers, only to garner a huff and an eye roll from Chris. She looks between the banner and its intended destination a few times, the gears turning in her head. Apparently satisfied with her plan, she crosses to Street without hesitation, her gaze locked on his like a warm fire.
"Squat."
"Excuse me?" Street blinks, certain he's misheard her, and shares a confused look with Tan and Luca to confirm his suspicions. But Chris just repeats herself, more impatient.
"Squat."
Despite his concern that she's losing it, he follows her instructions, resting his hands on the cobblestones for balance. He first hears Chris take a deep breath behind him—the kind he's used to hearing when they're about to run a risky maneuver she's determined to get right—and then the air explodes into sparks when she rests her hands on his shoulders, the sides of her pinkies brushing his neck. Her fingers dig into the muscles to brace herself, and she swings her leg up on one side.
"Woah!" He loses his balance under the unexpected weight, Tan and Luca rushing towards them only to be waved off by Chris.
"Everything's fine," she says, taking a small hop on the other foot to regain her own balance, waiting for Street to wrap his arm around her shin to hold her steady. "You ready, Street?"
"Yeah," he exhales heavily. His hand closes around the denim covering her shin, unable to not think about the tan skin that lies beneath. Forcing himself to shake the thought away, he tightens his core. "I am now. Thanks for the warning."
"Yeah, yeah," Chris mutters, "Okay."
With that, she leans forward and throws her other leg over his other shoulder, at the same time that Street stands up straight. It takes them both a moment to orient themselves, Chris not giving up her death grip on his shoulders until she's sure he's steady, and then she looks over at Tan and Luca, who are smirking all too amused for her taste.
"Hey, clowns, I need one of you to hand me the banner, and one of you to hand me a hammer and nail. Can you handle that?"
"Hell yeah," Luca grins wide, handing over the tools that, until now, have been sitting uselessly on the ground. "Chris to the rescue."
Feeling the slight recoil of her body as she tries to get away from the blush flaring up her neck and cheeks, Street holds her tighter. He keeps his eyes slightly up, in case she loses hold of the nail, and his breathing even so they don't topple over. Her expert hands make easy work of lining up the banner and securing it, and then she reaches down for another nail and the other end.
The sight of her with a nail sticking out of her mouth is enough to kill him. If it weren't for her literally being on his shoulders, Street's sure he would have a heart attack right there.
"One more step to the left, Street," Tan directs from his place behind them. "And a little higher, Chris. Perfect!"
The vibrations reverberate through his bones, and then she lets out a sigh at a job well done. The hammer goes back to Luca, her hands back to Street's shoulders.
"Okay," she pats him twice, the satisfaction in her tone lighting him up like a firework. "You can let me down."
Nodding, swallowing down the nerves in his gut like butterflies, he carefully lowers himself to the same squat position as before and relinquishes his hold on her legs. She's slow to lift herself off, not wanting to accidentally kick him in the head, and takes a deep breath when she's back on solid ground. He stands, and her hand finds his shoulder again, fingers feathering over his t-shirt to look up at the final product.
"Hey! You guys got it up there!" Deacon's smiling face appears from the shed to admire their work. "It looks great, thank you!"
"No problem, Deac!" Chris smiles back just as bright. "Thanks for the assist, Street. We make a good team."
2. During a Case
The sound of his heart breaking is that of the bright, paper-thin shattering of glass from down the hall. Whatever sensor the lab employs recognizes the gas in the air before Chris can even turn around and attempt to escape, the door sliding shut and sealing in cold blood. Deacon and Street round the corner, their voices echoing from the com in her ear and just outside the glass, but their words quickly become fuzzy as she has no choice but to breathe in the poison.
Street feels himself die as Chris looks at him, fear in her eyes, and scurries into the corner until her back hits the wall like a scared animal. She gasps as it first hits her nose, devolving immediately into harsh coughs and grasping at her throat as her lungs work overtime to get clean air that isn't available. Exhaustion catches up quick, Street yelling at her as her body slides down the wall, then crumples over itself. He can just see her chest, rising and falling rapidly.
"No!" He shouts, ramming his shoulder against the glass only to rebound into Deacon's arms, heart roaring like a caged animal that only grows more wild when Deacon tightens his grip.
"Street." Deacon grits his teeth and splays his hand across Street's chest, his voice cracking. "Street! Listen to me. The only way into that room is the control panel, downstairs. Fifty Squad is working on getting in—"
"She's dying, Deac!"
"I know!" Deacon yells back. The first time Street's heard him sound so panicked in the field, and it stops him cold. "I know! The moment they get that door open, we need to get her outside to the medics. That is what I need you to be ready to do. Do you hear me?"
Through a shaking breath, Street nods. His heart continues to beat like a war drum, pulse racing, but his feet are on the ground. He wants to look at her, but can't bring himself to.
"Ye-yes. I hear you."
"Good. Put that mask on, and keep talking to her. Rocker, I need this door open now."
"Copy." His gravelly voice comes over the speaker. "We're doing our best."
"Damn it, do better!" Street shouts, thankful—after, once he's come to his senses—that he wasn't actually pressing his com. He's on his knees, fingers dancing along the glass as his voice rasps through the respirator. "C'mon, Chris, hang in there. We're going to get you out of there. Just a few more minutes. Hang on, hang on. You're okay."
He feels every ounce of blood as it rushes beneath his skin, sees every speck of dust in the air as the world slows down to molasses, until Rocker warns them that the door is ready to open. His fingers flip the switch on his mask out of muscle memory, and he sees Deac do the same in his periphery.
"Do it."
The plastic edge makes a loud pop!, but it's nothing compared to the haunting sound of Chris struggling to breathe; the new memory is added to the stack of all the other times he's seen her hurt or bloody. Rushing into the room, he slams his knees to the hard ground and scoops up her near dead weight like it's nothing. Her head lolls against his shoulder, each wheeze sounds like sandpaper has shredded her throat, eyes glassy when he can see them through her fluttering lashes, and he doesn't wait for Deacon to yell at him to go, already sprinting towards the stairwell.
"Don't give up on me, now," he pleads with her through gritted teeth, boots pounding down the stairs. The sunlight is blinding when he finally breaks them free of the concrete lab-turned-prison, and everyone parts like the sea to make way for him. He rushes to the gurney, careful of how he sets her down, but can't do any more before he's shoved away by the medics.
"Starting oxygen!"
"Eyes are irritated. We need to flush them on the way."
"We'll keep an eye on her skin, too."
"She's tachycardic. We need to go, now."
Street doesn't realize when he goes from standing to sitting on the curb, or that he's crying until the clanging of metal and medics's shouts are replaced by silence and his own wet, labored breaths. He takes solace in knowing they drove away with the lights and sirens on. A hand meets his shoulder, and he jumps. Luca.
"Scene's contained. We're heading to the hospital."
3. On a Hike
Three weeks after he saves her from getting eaten by a mountain lion in favor of replacing plumbing and installing drywall, Chris gets around to taking the hike she missed. She asks Street if he wants to come, his quips about how he still hasn't found any good trails in LA getting tired, and he readily agrees. They meet at her apartment promptly at ten and set out, backpacks full and laces tight.
The sun is high and bright, the wind dancing through the leaves and blowing the sweet smell of early-spring flowers their way as they go. It's a beautiful reprieve from their usual gunmetal gray lives, and they take a rest at the top to down a granola bar and enjoy the view. He finds himself staring at the back of her neck and the curve of her shoulders but, if she notices, she doesn't say anything. Conversation comes to them as easy as breathing, passing the time from late morning until early afternoon, when a thick, dark cloud begins to overtake the edge of the sky.
"We should head back," Chris says, standing and brushing the dust off her thighs. She jerks her head in the direction of the impending storm. "Before that gets here."
"Sounds good," he smiles at her and crumples his wrapper to shove back in the side pocket. "Lead the way."
She does with the ease of someone who's done it a million times. Every few minutes the sky darkens overhead, their shadows disappearing and the rustling of trees becoming more aggressive. She's scaled halfway down a formation of jagged rocks when thunder booms so hard it shakes the ground and sends her blood rattling. Her foot slips in her attempt to catch herself, her body crashing to the ground with a dull thud.
"Chris! Are you okay?" Street shouts, desperate to get to her. Bark digs under his nails as he clings to the trees to keep his balance as the rocks still threaten to shift underneath him. He heard the hiss when she fell, his heart pounding, and a frown overtakes his face when he sees her propped against a tree with her hands at her ankle. His backpack slides off his shoulders as he kneels in front of her, hands hovering but not touching.
"I'm fine," she gets out through gritted teeth. "It's just twisted."
"Can I see? Those rocks are sharp."
"I think I'd know if I was bleeding," she bites, and he sighs, meeting fierce brown with soft green. A streak of dirt mars her cheeks that he has to keep himself from cleaning away.
"We're in the middle of the woods, Chris, not at work, and your adrenaline is going. Just let me check, please."
She rolls her eyes but he lets her because she moves her hands. Her muscles tense before he's even touched her, and his heart aches knowing she's in serious pain even if she's trying to play it off. More dirt clings to the bottom of her pants and in the crevices of her shoes. Glancing at her one more time to make sure she's ready, he gently cups the back of her ankle with one hand.
"Ow!" She jerks away as if she was lit on fire, and he immediately raises his hands in surrender.
"Sorry! I'm sorry."
"It's fine," she huffs and clenches her fists until her nerves settle. "Just look at it so we can get out of here."
With even more reverence, he ghosts his fingers over the tender bone and delicate muscle, already feeling how hot it's getting.
"You're right, no blood," he reports softly. "But that's definitely at least a sprain. You're sure you didn't hit anything else? Your head feels fine?"
"Yes!" She swats at his hands as her agitation grows. "Now help me up"
"Help you—?! Chris, you can't seriously think you're going to get down the rest of this trail on that foot."
Her jaw clenches, head tilting towards the sky to feel the peaks of sun through the canopy of trees on her closed eyelids.
"Not the first time I sprained my ankle, Street. I'll be fine. Unless we also get caught in this storm." Her tone is clear, and she grasps his forearm to haul herself up. The other hand digs into the tree as she regains her balance. He presses his lips into a disappointed line, watching with raised eyebrows as she tests how much weight she can put on her foot, and tries to hide the clear wince when she does. She glances back at him, a challenge in her eyes, but he acquiesces.
Sweat beads on her forehead and neck as they go, significantly slower than before as the storm rolls closer. She glues her eyes to the ground to catalog every step before she takes it, avoiding so much as the tiniest raised root, and clenches her jaw tighter when the pain flares up. Street watches, helpless and frustrated, until she takes a step and almost collapses. His body is drawn to hers like a magnet and he catches her easily, an arm around her waist.
"Okay, enough." He says, in a tone leaving no room for argument. He eases her backpack off without protest, condensing her things with his so it's completely empty, and then gives it back. "Put this on." And then, once she has, hands his over. "This one, too."
Turning his back to her, he kneels down on one knee and waits. Her slow breaths fill the air behind him like she's trying to convince herself of something, and he doesn't rush her to the conclusion, but makes it clear he isn't taking no for an answer, either. After another moment she carefully wraps her injured leg around his waist until he cradles underneath her thigh. She hops her other leg up, body situating itself against his, and he readjusts so his arms are underneath her knees once he's standing. Hers hang loose around his neck, chest warm against his back.
"You okay?" He checks.
"Yeah." Her voice gets much quieter, breath tickling his neck. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet." He jokes, and continues down the trail. Walking quickly but cautiously, he gets them to her truck just as the drizzle begins, offering her an extra hand as she climbs into the passenger seat. The engine roars to life, radio playing low, and she keeps her gaze fixed out the window.
"Hey, Street?" She asks, eventually.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
4. At a Concert
Beer and bass and cotton-candy haze pouring from a smoke machine light up the dusty night sky. Street's forearms have gone sticky from beer that's sloshed out of cups, and bodies keep falling against his and then offering apologies that are ground into the dirt by the crowd singing almost as loud as the band.
It's all worth it for the smile on Chris's face.
The fire effects light up her face and catch the gold in her eyes, and her lips are perfect as they mouth every word of every song. She starts to actually sing a minute later, her voice just loud enough to carry over to him, and her laugh vibrates against him when he wraps his arms tight around her waist to soak it all in.
"Having fun?" He whisper-shouts, swaying them to the beat.
"So much! Thank you."
Her lips taste like hops. He kisses her again.
"Happy Birthday, Babe."
A peony pink blush flushes up her face but the energy around them is too good to focus on it for long. The ground shakes with the more bass and drums, Street following along the best he can, singing every word he's learned from Chris over the years and humming the rest. He switches to draping his arm over his shoulder to keep her from getting sucked into the mosh pit, watching her face more than the giant screens of the band.
Sunset gives way to deep navy. The crowd ebbs and flows like a wave, new bodies pushing forward towards the gates lining the stage the later it gets. Chris and Street let them, their own bodies fading backwards—too familiar with the possibilities—although he frowns when she leans up on her tiptoes to try to see better as the chords of her favorite song start.
"Hey!" He grabs her attention, a hand on her leather-jacket clad elbow. She turns with a question on her face, but he just slips around her and squats down. When he doesn't feel a hand on his shoulder, he looks back at her and jerks his head towards the stage. "C'mon."
"Street," Chris laughs, rolls her eyes playfully, but he doesn't budge.
"It's your favorite song and it's your birthday. No one's even behind us if that's what you're worried about."
Checking, she finds he's right, and the last of her worries slip away. She shakes her head out of the habit but then he squats down again and she tosses a leg over his shoulder.
The view is even more magical over the heads of hundreds of people. He looks up and sees the stars in her eyes and how bright her smile is. She's all the more beautiful from below, completely free and held securely in place by his strong hands. Her hands form a funnel around her lips as she sings louder.
She's practically buzzing when the song fades into another, and she leans down, kissing his hair.
"Do you need me to get down?"
"You can stay up there forever!" He says, basking in the laugh that floats down to him.
5. To Bed
In hindsight, he should have foreseen the monster amount of paperwork that comes with being a Team Leader. Still, Hondo could've given him the heads up.
Numbers and boxes swim in his head, a lingering uncertainty that there's some form he forgot to sign or date, but it all falls away when he unlocks the door to their apartment. He's welcomed by the dim yellow light from above their kitchen sink and the soft tinking sound the light bulb always makes right before it needs to be changed. The coffee maker is set for the next morning with his mug right next to it, and he can't help but smile as he breathes it all in.
Their bedroom door is closed as he pads towards it, but a gentle rustle from the couch catches his attention. Looking over, he sees Chris underneath their favorite blanket and the book she's been reading on the floor next to the coffee table. He laughs softly, grabbing the book and using the dust jacket to save her page before setting it on the table, but doesn't disturb her. It isn't often he gets to see her like this.
Plus, he knows how this goes: once she's got her grip on him, she won't let go. He makes quick, quiet work of changing into his pajamas and brushing his teeth, sets out his clothes for the following morning, and pulls the covers back. Then he heads back towards the living room.
His first test is getting her disentangled from the blanket, but she shivers and tries to grab for it the second she feels the chill of air on her skin. A small groan escapes—he has to bite his lip to keep from chuckling—but he manages to toss the blanket over the back of the couch, his hands warm on her forearms instead.
"Hey, Babe," he murmurs, unsure if she can hear him, but she groans something incoherent and shifts towards his voice. He slides his arms underneath her knees and upper back and lifts her in one swift go. She immediately nestles closer to his warmth, her cheek against his bare chest, and he drops a soft kiss to her forehead. Not bothering to turn out the kitchen light, he returns to their bedroom with her in his arms and kicks the door shut as softly as he can.
His knee sinks into the mattress as he lays her on her side of the bed and, as predicted, the hand that she curled around his wrist tightens when he tries to straighten up. He lies down on his side so she can stake her claim on the arm nearest to her, instead, and then adjusts his pillows and pulls the covers over them both. Settled, she rolls over until her leg covers one of his, trapping him where he is, but he's never been more comfortable.
1: Through a Fire
The building goes up too fast for any of them to even process it. Exploding into the Los Angeles afternoon as easily as confetti popper, but instead it rains down burning hot ash that sparks on her skin.
The building goes up, and the only thing she's aware of is that Street was still inside.
His name rolls off her lips in a desperate scream, and she knows in her bones that they don't have time to wait for the firefighters. The ceiling is curling in like paper, exposed beams burning away into nothing, and it won't be long before the entire frame comes down as a fiery, hellish cave.
"Street? Status check." She demands, her feet, ironically, frozen to the ground. The world moves in slow motion until the low crackle of a damaged, but not dead, com comes through, his voice dry as sandpaper.
"First floor bath."
It's all she needs to get unstuck. She races forward as the blueprints flash in her mind, and feels hands brush against her arms and torso but they're too slow. Hondo can yell at her all he wants later, once the entire team is safe and sound.
Any idea of heat or what she thought she knew of it flies out the moment she enters the burning building. Even though the flames have yet to reach her path, every surface is hot to the touch and she can barely keep her eyes open from the smoke that clouds everything. She drops to her knees on instinct and uses a hand against the baseboard to crawl her way through the hallway and kitchen to the door that he's behind.
That she hopes he's behind, but that's all she has.
The doorknob singes her palm but she doesn't give it more than a pained groan as she twists and slams her shoulder into the wood. The hinges give way easily and reveal Street, a wet cloth over his mouth but otherwise unmoving.
"Street?" She calls, coughs, and shakes his shoulder as hard as she can. His head just lolls in the other direction and she feels her heart stop for a second before her adrenaline kicks into overdrive. The path to safety lights up in her head like the answer to a maze, and she takes care to tie the wet cloth around the back of his head to try to keep him from inhaling any more smoke.
He's dead weight, but she manages to wrap his arms around her neck so she can hold both his wrists, and hoist his body upwards so his entire front is draped over her back, his toes dragging the ground because of their height difference. Bouncing a few times until he's securely where she wants, she starts the harrowing trek back outside.
A plume of smoke assaults her the moment they turn back into the hallway, the flames licking at every square inch of matter there is. Coughs force themselves out of her and boiling tears roll down her face, and with every trudge his body gets heavier. Behind her, she hears the telltale creak of wood that's about to succumb to the fire, and she grits her teeth to take another step.
And another.
And another.
Finally, the burning interior gives way to a blue sky and chattering voices and every kind of first responder siren that exists. Her heart skips a beat and her knees threaten to give out underneath her, but she wills herself to stay up until they're squarely off the porch and halfway to the barricades keeping everyone else back. She sees boots sprinting her way through hazy vision, her grip loosening on Street's wrists as the crash begins, and voices calling her name but she can't tell who.
"Chris?"
The weight, his weight, is no longer on her back. A million hands are lying him down and then rolling him onto a gurney and strapping oxygen to his face.
"Chris!" Her knees go, and a different set of hands keeps her from hitting the pavement entirely. They hold her upright as her lungs demand the ash caking her insides is expelled, but her body struggles to follow through. Squeaky metal and rushing, pounding water, and even more boots reach her ears, and someone places something cold against her nose and mouth that she jerks away from. In her panic to get away she catches Deacon's worried face, and that calms her enough to stop swatting at the hands and realize the device is an oxygen mask of her own, giving her sweet, fresh air that she greedily inhales.
He manhandles her into leaning against the gurney, hands on her shoulders until her eyes focus on his face completely.
"What were you thinking?"
She's too exhausted to do anything more than shrug, her gaze falling around until it lands on Street. He's lying on his own gurney, one of the paramedics holding a bag of fluid and another taking his pulse. But his eyes are open, and her world isn't burning anymore.
"Alright." Deacon says, his tone exasperated but relieved. "Just take it easy. Paramedics will be over here in a few to check you out, too."
2: On the way Home
Downtown Los Angeles is beautiful, a city lit like the stars with an infectious energy that bounces around Twenty Squad as they head from the bar into the night air. The six of them haven't gotten together in so long, much less had an entire night to truly catch up and celebrate life, and Chris would be lying if she said that all the heartache wasn't worth right now.
She's broken from her dreamy trance by a peck on her cheek. Warm, familiar lips that she's memorized the shape and feel of over every inch of her skin. She doesn't blush anymore when he kisses her in public, just rolls her eyes at Luca's whistle and Hondo's laugh, and looks over into Street's eyes.
"What're you thinking about?" He half-shouts over the music that spills from every bar and the traffic that never dies no matter the time. She catches sight of his dimples and feels her own face twist into a grin, warmth flooding her veins. Reaching out for him, he lets her pull him in and rests his chin on her shoulder, gazing at her as everyone waits for the answer.
"I'm really glad we decided to do this." She says, and this time a blush does start to creep up as the team flowers her with affirmations. She turns to them. "Thank you guys for coming."
"Ah," Luca waves her off. "Anything for our favorite fiancés."
A cheer explodes in the group, Street's hand tightening in hers.
"I was a little surprised you wanted to do anything." Hondo adds, not that she can blame him for that. Still, she shrugs.
"Street suggested it, and we missed everyone."
"You can always come back," Tan jumps on it like he's been waiting for the opportunity. A laugh escapes and she shakes her head, content.
"I'm happy where I am. But I'll be there next Tuesday morning to kick your ass in the ring."
"And one round of transfer paperwork was more than enough for me. Don't worry; you're still my best man."
Tan lights up, a ripple of joy spreading through the air that nothing could bring down.
"Alright, Lovebirds," Deacon interrupts. "Let me get a picture for Annie." And then, softer, "Victoria's already asked me about being the flower girl."
Chris hums as Street slides behind her, their faces aglow from within as much as the streetlight.
"Her and Mirabel. I'll tell her when I pick her up from school Friday."
Deacon winks at her, and she feels Street squeeze her waist as the camera shutters. He kisses her cheek again, making sure Luca has time enough to whip out his phone to capture it, too, and then murmurs soft in her ear.
"One more?"
She sighs but smirks into the kiss.
"Okay."
She expects him to spin her around and kiss her, or maybe invite everyone in for a group photo. She doesn't expect the way his hands grip her shoulders, giving her instincts just enough time to understand what's about to happen before he's hopping onto her back. Her front half leans forward to counter the newfound weight, feet stumbling slightly against the sidewalk until she finds her balance, and she rolls her eyes when she knows that plenty more than one photo of this ordeal already exists on all their phones.
Certain she's not going to fall over or drop him, she straightens up some. The flash goes off the moment she smiles.
"Are you all satisfied?" She accuses more than asks, eyes tracing everyone's. They laugh and say yes, slide their phones back into their pockets.
"Yes," Street makes sure to answer her again, and then lets his feet hit the ground. "Now that we're all evened out."
"Evened out? That sounds like a story."
And it doesn't even matter who says it, because there's so much love in their tone and she's never felt quite so at home as she does now. Surrounded by her favorite people, her and Street's intertwined hands swing between them with every step towards the next bar.
"Oh, yeah," Street starts before she can even defend herself. "It was the first time Chris and I went on a hike together…"
hello all! happy sunday ️ thank you so much for reading, and i hope you enjoyed!
landdownunda left a suggestion/many thoughts in a comment about situations in which chris or street would have to carry one another, and i loved it. this was super fun to write and, even though there's still a little angst/concern/etc in some of the sections, i honestly think of it as a super fun, upbeat piece lol. and i had to balance it out at the end with one more serious, and one lighthearted instance of chris carrying/picking up street. plus bringing other members of the team in is always a joy. (hence the title from "accidentally in love" by counting crows, one of my favorite, just sunny, loving songs.)
as always, i'd love to know what you think! comments/kudos so appreciated until next time!
xo, A