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The pain is as immediate as the loss of control Chris feels over her own body. The VX hits her skin and in less than a breath she’s on the ground, coughing, convulsing, but unable to do anything to make it stop. Her hands claw at the surrounding carpet, unable to ground herself as pain engulfs her and her mind goes white. Faintly, she hears Hondo’s voice, but it sounds like it’s getting further away even as she tries to focus on it. Once his voice is gone, and she’s floating in-between her body and mind, she knows it’ll be too late, so Chris draws on every last reserve in her body to hear what he’s saying.
“Just focus on my voice, Chris, and keep squeezing my hand. Deacon and Luca are on the way. You do not stop squeezing my hand, you hear me?” There’s an edge to Hondo’s voice that she can’t identify, but she feels something slip into her hands and weakly squeezes it, glad to have found purchase on something real instead of the terror and agony coursing through her.
An involuntary gasp escapes when Hondo rolls her onto his shoulders to take her outside, and the fresh air seems to burn her more as he works to rip off her gear. More voices float past, Tan and Street, but then Chris tastes blood on her tongue, and she’s sputtering up blood and spit, pushing at the air as she desperately tries to get away from the feeling of choking, except her body just won’t listen to her . She thinks her face is getting wet; she can’t figure out the source.
Street and Tan jump to get Chris into the recovery position, Street supporting her head on his knees, which at least makes her feel like she’s not choking on top of not being able to breathe. Someone is running a hand through her hair, a small comfort over the thought that it will be the last nice thing she ever feels. She tries to squeeze Hondo’s hand and finds she can’t.
“Hang in there, Chris. Deac and Luca are almost here, okay? Just keep fighting. We’ve got you, I’ve got you.” The voice is pleading, but the words don’t process. Chris can feel the last bit of energy leaving her body and any sensation of what’s around her slipping away. Her brain is screaming at her to stay present, but even that command is cracking beneath the weight of every muscle and nerve in her body being on fire. She just wants relief.
“Chris? Chris?! C’mon, stay with us. Please.” Street’s voice cracks as he rubs over her arm and back, praying that it will help, even though he can tell her breathing is getting weaker. Hondo sits next to her, hands still locked together, and tries to find her gaze as it becomes more and more unfocused. Tan can’t stop pacing, looking from Chris to the street like he can will Deacon and Luca to get there faster.
When Black Betty finally pulls around the bend, Deacon jumps from the moving vehicle with the antidote in hand. The team backs up as he plunges the needle into their teammate’s chest as forcefully as he can. For a terrible second, nothing happens, and the five men sit in silence as they try to process that Chris may be gone to the background noise of ambulance sirens.
Her eyes open with a gasp that jolts through her whole body. It’s like all at once her nerves settled enough for her to regain a sense of the world around her. She looks up at the team around her, and squeezes Hondo’s hand as tightly as she can. Their voices swim around her, gentle encouragements about how she’s okay, to keep breathing, and the ambulance is almost there. She wants to sit up, to tell the team that she’s fine, but her limbs still refuse to listen, and her breathing is too labored to talk. Street keeps running his hand through her hair and she lets herself be comforted by it.
A moment later, Chris feels air entering her lungs that doesn’t take all her strength to conjure, and a soft mat under her back. She registers being lifted into an ambulance, or Black Betty got some new gear while she wasn’t looking, but she doesn’t care so long as she’s getting away from that godforsaken hotel. Her eyes open again at the touch of a hand on her forehead, and she sees Deacon, smiling as reassuringly as he can, sitting next to her in the ambulance.
“I’m going to be right here, Chris, and we’re going to get you all fixed up.”
“Still waiting.” Deacon informs the team, gratefully accepting the styrofoam cup Luca hands him.
“She’s strong, she’ll pull through.” Hondo says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. A ripple of nods follows, but their worries for Chris still permeate the room. Other than Hondo stepping aside to inform her family of what happened, the team sits in relative silence, only exchanging murmurs and coffee cups, until a doctor comes to them.
“Family of Christina Alonso? I’m Doctor Sands, the primary physician in charge of Officer Alonso’s care.” Sensing the barrage of questions, the doctor puts her hands in front of her to deter the group. “Officer Alonso is okay. We decontaminated her skin and administered diazepam in addition to an oxygen mask. We’re going to monitor her and, assuming all is well, she can go home the morning after tomorrow. She’ll likely be sore for a few days as her muscles recover, and she may have some headaches or nausea. All-in-all, she’s extremely lucky, and she should be back to full duty in a few weeks with proper rest.”
The team lets out a mass exhale as the information that Chris is okay settles. Sharing a look, it’s Luca who speaks up, wringing his hands.
“When can we see her?”
Doctor Sands smiles, “A quick visit now is fine, but I’d prefer to limit the amount of noise and activity while she rests tonight. You’re more than welcome to come back in the morning. I’ll take you to her.”
Chris Alonso looks smaller than they’ve ever seen her when they step into her room. Her hand feels cold in Deacon’s when he sits next to her, needing the reassurance that the woman who’s become a part of his family is okay. He murmurs a quick prayer before standing with a soft sniffle.
“I’m going to call Sarszo and Helena again and let them know how she is. The hospital will probably let one of them stay with her overnight.” Hondo nods at Deacon as the latter exits before turning back and taking in Chris and the rest of 20-Squad. He knows he’ll never forget the sight of her, on the ground, helpless when the VX first hit her. He takes a deep breath to steady himself before addressing his team, all in various stages of relief.
“Alright, everybody, let’s give Chris a goodnight and let her rest. I’ll talk to Hicks, and we’ll split shifts tomorrow, so someone can be here when she wakes up.”
Chris wakes up early the next day, disoriented and squinting against the sterile white of the hospital walls. It’s only a moment before a nurse enters, pleased to see she’s awake and paging Doctor Sands before checking the young officer’s vitals.
“Good morning, Officer Alonso, how are you feeling?” Doctor Sands asks, entering with clipboard in hand.
“Chris, please,” she croaks out, taking a labored breath before she continues, “and tired, confused. My family?”
“Your Aunt and Uncle just stepped out, they should be back any moment. The confusion is normal, your body sustained a serious trauma and it’s going to take some time to fully recover. If you start to experience any nausea or headaches, let us know, and we’ll get you some meds.”
Chris is doing her best to focus on what the doctor is saying, but sleep is pulling at her again.
“When can I go back to work?”
Doctor Sands smiles, “One week off to rest, light desk duty for the following two to three weeks, and if your check-up doesn’t raise any concerns, back to the field after that. Good?”
Chris nods before a soft knock catches her attention, the door opening to reveal her Aunt and Uncle, wide smiles showcasing how happy they are to see their niece awake and coherent. They approach her carefully, not wanting to cause any more pain, and Chris relaxes into their gentle hugs.
“I’ll leave you to rest, hit the call button if you need anything.”
Street smiles at Chris’s Aunt when he enters at noon, having gotten to the hospital the first chance he got. Despite his best efforts, he found himself unable to sleep the night before and unable to focus on much at HQ. The team had gotten periodic updates, but it’s nice to see her in the flesh again.
“She’s been in and out.” Helena tells Street, “And every time she’s woken up she’s asked about you and the rest of 20 David. I should get back to Sarszo and Thomas if you’re able to stay with her for a while?”
Nodding quickly, Street sits in the other chair by Chris’s bedside, taking her hand in his and running a thumb over her knuckles.
“I’ll be here as long as I can be, and I’m sure the rest of the team will be by as soon as they can. We’ll make sure she’s okay.” Helena gives Street a knowing smile, squeezing his other hand and resting her hand on Chris’s cheek, lightly grazing it with her thumb.
“You and your team always take care of my girl. I’ll see you soon.”
Twenty minutes later, Street hears soft grumbles coming from the sleeping woman beside him.
“Chris? You waking up? Hey? Hey! There she is.” His brown eyes are calm. Chris stares into them for a moment, taking in the exact shade and how long his eyelashes look from her angle.
“Chris? You okay?” Snaps her out of her reverie, and she nods with a small cough and a grimace of pain.
“It takes more than that to take me out. Did everything…?”
Street nods, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
“Yeah, everything is good, we got them, and Irina is safe and sound thanks to you. But, please, Chris, never do that again. I don’t think any of us have ever been as scared as we were last night.”
“That makes two of us, or, six, I guess. How— how bad was it? All I remember is burning and choking, and your guys’ voices…” He can tell from the way her voice trails off that the memory of the event is resurfacing, and, since he couldn’t at the time, Street is determined to protect Chris from that pain now.
“Hey, you’re here with us, with me. It, it wasn’t good, Chris, but you’re strong, and we all had faith in that. Deac and Annie can’t wait to see you. Neither can the rest of the team, they’ll be in later.” She gives him a small nod, and he can tell she’s fading from the small exertion.
“Did you want me to leave—” is as far as he gets before she squeezes his hand with more strength than she has, shaking her head.
“Stay, please, Street? At least until I fall asleep?”
She focuses on his eyelashes again, until she drifts off.
Luca, Tan, and Hondo filter in throughout the day, managing to catch Chris awake for at least a few minutes, their relief at seeing the clarity in her eyes palpable. They leave her with orders to rest and promises of bringing her whatever she needs as she recovers, and she reassures them all that, really, she’s fine, and she’ll be back in no time.
Deacon and Annie are the last to visit that evening, entering with hugs that linger and kisses to her forehead that she relishes more than she lets on. Annie sits next to her, squeezing her hand, but Chris interrupts her before she can speak.
“Please don’t ask me how I am, I’m starting to feel like a broken record.” She chuckles softly before continuing, “How are the kids? Or anything outside these four walls?”
Chris catches Annie’s smile, and the thinly-veiled concern in Deacon’s eyes. They’ll end up talking about it before the couple leaves, she knows, but for the moment she’s just glad to hear about everything her goddaughter is up to. Annie talks for a while, good at filling the space and giving Chris the distraction she needs, before looking over at her husband and smiling.
“I’m going to go grab a water, do you need anything, Chris? Want anything, Honey?” Chris shakes her head, as does Deacon, and Annie plants a quick kiss on the side of his mouth. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”
Deacon fills Annie’s seat as soon as the door closes behind her. Chris stays silent and looks at him intently, knowing he needs a minute to gather his thoughts before he speaks. For the hundredth time today, Deacon grabs Chris’s hand, and she squeezes his back. As closed off as her emotional walls may be, she appreciates that the team has picked up on how much their physical presence soothes her.
“Chris,” Deacon’s voice cracks as he starts, “Chris, I’m so sorry.” She tries to shush him, but he shakes his head and carries on. “I wish we’d left that med kit with you, and that we’d been able to get to you sooner after you got hit. But I’m so glad you’re okay. Please, if you need anything, Annie and I are here. You’re a part of our family, and we love you.” Tears well up in both of their eyes, and Chris breaks the tension with a soft laugh; no one had to read the letter in her locker, she reminds herself.
“You know it’s not any of your fault, what happened. You guys got there, you saved me, and I’m okay. I need you to believe that for me, because if I get out of here tomorrow and the team still has sad puppy eyes, you’re all going to have bigger problems.”
“Understood,” Deacon says with a smile.
Annie reenters, water bottle in hand, and Chris squeezes Deacon’s hand a final time before settling back onto the pillows, exhausted.
“Tell me about Tory’s school play?”
It’s Street that shows up at the hospital to help Chris get discharged and back to her apartment.
“Everyone else wanted to come, but they got a call, so you’re stuck with me.” There’s a twinkle in his eye that accompanies his grin, and Chris notices his dimples when she smiles back.
Getting her home is less of a fight than Street expects; she barely resists having to be pushed out in a wheelchair or the aftercare instructions Doctor Sands leaves her with, despite it meaning she can’t do much more than walk from her bed to her bathroom. Glances during the drive tell Street all he needs to know about how much pain Chris is still in when she tries to breathe deeply or move too fast, but he knows better than to bring it up unless she does. Instead, he just asks what she wants from In-N’-Out, and scoffs when she tells him she’ll pay him back.
“I promise ten dollars won’t break my bank. Consider it a ‘going home’ present.” Chris rolls her eyes, but again refuses to put up a fight. She’s too tired to be stubborn, and the gentle warmth creeping up from her core from the interaction gives her enough to think about until Street pulls up in front of her complex. He grabs the duffle bag of clothes her family brought from the backseat before opening her door and offering his arm for her to step down from the truck. They move slowly towards the elevator, Street hovering a hand near the small of Chris’s back, not touching unless she falters. The space between his hand and her back feels supercharged. Street does his best not to focus on it.
They finally get to her door and she unlocks it with a shaky hand before pain shoots up through her chest and throat, nearly blinding her. She gets a grip on the counter, knuckles white, to steady her while she takes deep breaths and the pain dissipates.
“Try to breathe, Chris, I’m going to get you some water.” Street says, carefully moving past her. Panic runs through her, but just as soon as Street’s gone, his voice is back in her ear.
“Chris, hey, here, drink this.” He holds the glass to her lips, tipping it back until she turns so she’s leaning against the counter. The cool liquid soothes her throat, and she nods to let Street know she’s okay before going to the couch, swinging her legs up to the other end and lying back. At the feel of a hand on her forehead, fuzzy memories from the ambulance floating past, Chris opens her eyes. Street is kneeling at the side of the couch, looking at her worriedly.
“You okay?” His tone is soft, like speaking too loudly might send her back into a physical tailspin, and she appreciates it as pounding begins in the back of her head.
“Yeah. I’m sorry, I’m really fine, and you’re good to go. I’m probably just going to nap anyway.”
She wishes she wasn’t saying the words, even as they’re falling from her mouth. She’s managed this position of vulnerability within the team the best she could while she was in the hospital, but she knows now that she’s home, she needs to get a grip. The easiest way to do that is to reinforce her walls. It doesn’t stop the fear from building in her chest, though, as hurt flashes across Street’s face before being replaced by a sad smile.
“Rest. I’m not going anywhere.”
Chris wakes up to a delicious smell and a relentless headache. Sitting up and looking to her kitchen, she sees Street’s back as he stirs something, and she can’t help the small smile that creeps up. Scanning for pain and satisfied that she won’t have another attack, she makes her way to the barstool, the grating catching Street’s attention. His eyes are soft and full of relief as he sets a glass of water and her meds on the counter in front of her.
“How are you feeling?” He says, nonchalantly and over his shoulder, like this is an everyday occurrence. It startles Chris how comfortable she feels in it.
“Okay. Headache is all. Thanks for cooking, and picking me up, but I’m fine if you want to go back home.”
Street hums, choosing to slide a plate of scrambled eggs and toast to her instead of responding right away.
“I know you’re probably sick of me, but I think the team would kill me if I left you alone to go play video games.”
“So, what? You’re babysitting me? Do I get to know who’s next on shift?”
Chris stabs at her eggs and refuses to break eye contact. If he’s going to be insufferably overbearing, he’s going to own up to it.
Street scoffs.
“Chris, we’re not trying to babysit you. Maybe you really don’t realize how important you are to all of us, but… I can’t describe how scared we all were. So, please, let us dote on you until you’re back at HQ, and then you can go back to being walls-up, badass, okay?” He leans forward on his elbows, close enough for Chris to reach out and touch his face if she wanted to, and she knows he’s being genuine.
It annoys her, that his opening up makes the armor over her own chest come down a bit, and she looks down at her plate, deciding what road she’s willing to walk down.
“I don’t like the idea of you all seeing me weak.”
Street manages to hold in the small gasp he feels bubble up. He wants to reach out, take her hands, make her look at him, but he doesn’t, instead keeping his tone as level as possible.
“Chris, none of us think that. You acted in the situation and saved Irina, and almost lost your life in the process. You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, and I think everyone else would agree. It’s not weakness to accept help, or to need help.” He hopes it’s enough to get her to look up, but instead her shoulders heave as she sighs; Chris starts back to her room, hoping lying in the darkness will make everything painful, physical and emotional, go away.
It’s 10 pm the next time she emerges from her room, slightly more steady. Street’s on the couch, a mindless TV show droning on as he scrolls through his phone, and he looks over when he feels the couch dip. Chris wraps herself in a blanket and keeps her eyes trained on the TV. He stays silent, letting her set the pace.
“It’s—” Chris starts, her voice cracking, causing her to clear her throat, still not looking at him, “it’s a different situation for me. Being a woman, people are going to talk, even if that has nothing to do with it.”
Her nails dig into her palms, but Chris wills herself to continue. If this doesn’t come out now, it’s never coming, but it warrants being said if they’re going to be partners for a long time.
“That’s on top of everything else, just trying to process what happened. And feeling like I should be able to process it easier, and that not doing that is letting the team down. My head hurts, and I can’t tell if it’s an aftereffect from what happened or because my thoughts won’t stop racing.”
“Chris.”
The second Chris looks up from her lap and into Street’s eyes, full of pain for what she’s going through, he opens his arms and she can’t help but nestle into them. He rests his chin on top of her head, with one hand at her back and the other in her hair. Chris closes her eyes and breathes in his cologne.
“I’m sorry. That you got hurt at all, and that you’re feeling like this. But it hasn’t even been 72 hours, and no one on the team expects you to be fine like nothing happened. We’d be more concerned if you were, honestly. And, I know you can fight your own battles, but the second anyone at HQ says anything they’re going to have all of 20 to deal with. We’ve got your six. We can’t understand your experience, Chris, but you deserve every ounce of what you have, so you need to take however much time you need to heal and process so you can get back out there with us. You’re one of the best of us, if not the best, and we’re not letting anyone forget that. ”
He feels her relax some in his hold, which in turn makes him crack a smile, glad to have helped even a little. Thinking back, Street remembers every moment when Chris believed in him despite himself and his choices, and, holding her now, a jolt of affection and something more runs through him. He doesn’t linger on it, but the warmth he feels sticks with him even after she gently pulls away.
“Thank you. Make sure you keep a list of whoever runs their mouth for when I come back,” she says with a light laugh.
“I’m going to grab my meds and some tea, if you want some. Pick a movie? Nothing too crazy.”
He nods, grabbing the remote from the table and scrolling through the guide before settling on a superhero movie. Chris returns, hands him a mug of tea, and sets the bowl of popcorn between them before curling up in a blanket, and Street can’t help but smile at the scene.
“You’re the real Wonder Woman, you know?”
The comment makes Chris roll her eyes and laugh the first full laugh she has in days.
“And who does that make you? Because Hondo’s clearly Superman.”
“Well, clearly,” he says in the most exaggerated tone he can muster, “but I’m offended you wouldn’t even consider my good looks in a suit and glasses.”
“Oh, please, you and Luca can’t go five minutes without finding a mirror or window to look in, as if you could actually keep up the disguise.” She’s smiling, the conversation lifting her mood in a way she desperately needed.
“I think we’re going to have to take this out in the ring once you’re back.” Street says, raising his eyebrows in mock-challenge as he eats a piece of popcorn.
“Please, as if you actually think you have a chance at beating me.”
He tosses a kernel at her in response, and she doesn’t mind the soreness in her chest from laughing at him when she throws one back.