Archive of Our Own

What type of deep shit did Street get himself into? Chris thought, her gut twisting as she approached the dinghy bar.

If Chris Alonso was two things it was stubborn and determined. Some would say they were synonyms but Chris knew the difference. Stubborn was her unwillingness to budge when she was right, to stay standing strong and proud despite the onslaught that was always upon her. Usually it was spewed as an insult, but Chris had thick skin. Didn’t mind when ignorant men called her a “stubborn bitch” when she wouldn’t fall for their usual tricks. Didn’t mind when her tía called her “stubborn child” in Spanish whenever they’d argue. But being stubborn, stuck in her ways, got her this job. And being determined? It was always seen as a positive attribute until her determination got her somewhere. Until she was too ambitious. Until that ambition became a reality. Until she became a threat. Nobody seemed to like a woman who wouldn’t slow down.

And Jim Street wasn’t immune to this stubbornness and determination. Jim Street, who had blown her off a week earlier. She had just managed to stay calm within his presence, not yell at him while Tan and Street’s brother, Nate, were around. Just barely managed to not cry. Chris Alonso did not cry. Definitely not over stupid boys making stupid decisions. But she cared about him far too much to just let him waste his potential. Waste his life. She needed him to see some clarity, see how much she did care, and hope it was enough to convince him to let her help fix this mess.

But at the root of this, the root of it all, Chris was scared. Sure all of 20-Squad is her family, but Street… Street’s her best friend. Chris could count how many “best friends” she had in her lifetime on one hand (family didn’t count). While outgoing, Chris kept to herself, not fully trusting anybody, especially after her kidnapping as a young teen. She didn’t hand over her trust easily. She didn’t trust anybody like she trusted him.

And he was clearly not fine, lying to her and hiding from her and… and… well it pissed her off just as equally as it broke her heart.

She slammed her fist into his locker but it wasn’t enough. Chris hit the metal door over and over and over, as if asking Why? Why? Why?! Blaming herself for his absence, for his second downfall, one he wouldn’t be able to recover from even if she begged Hicks and prayed to the Lord above.

Knuckles almost bruised, Chris backed away. Abusing this locker was useless and her stubborn ass was just going to get herself even more hurt. With resolve, and a sudden sense of clarity, Chris zipped up her SWAT jacket, packed up her bag, and slipped her gun into her waistband. She had a man to hunt down.

She approached the door. The lights were on yet it seemed as if the bar was closed. Incredibly suspicious. Chris navigated her way around to the back alley. A man with a cast was standing guard. That was muscle if she ever saw one, a makeshift guard. Even more suspicious.

And then she heard his voice, watched through a bend in one of the plastic blinds as Street was manhandled, his face forced into the counter as a man took out a gun, aiming at him. The man cocked the gun, flicking off the safety. Without a second thought, running fully on adrenaline, Chris shot the window and threw herself through the glass.

Everyone’s eyes were on her. At least a dozen men, all holding guns. One wearing a fine suit, the rest wearing leather jackets, looking pretty rough around the edges. Drugs, was her immediate thought.
“LAPD, drop your weapons!” she yelled, her gun trained on the man who still had his pistol pointed at Street.

“Chris, what the fuck are you doing here?! Leave!” he yelled, fury and frustration raged in his eyes. She missed the flash of fear before he composed himself.

“Is this your fault?! Did you set us up?!” the man with the gun spat, bringing the barrel directly to Street’s head.

“I said drop it! Now! Hands up! I will shoot!” Chris interrupted. All she could see was red.

“Nolan, relax, look there’s nobody else here. Not a single cop car on the block. She came alone. This man probably had nothing to do with it,” the man in the suit stated calmly, with a smile.
“He attracted her here. He’s a liability,” Nolan muttered.

“But also an asset. We just have to remove the extraneous variable.”

Suddenly all eyes were on Chris. She still held her gun strong, staring down this man, Nolan, not catching the desperate look in Street’s eyes.

“He’s a rat!”

Chris saw the man’s finger twitch, and that was all she needed.

BANG!

Everything went to shit. The entire operation went to shit. But Street couldn’t worry about that now. Everyone seemed to be shooting everyone, as if itching for a fight. He stayed low, crawling to get to Chris, who was bleeding out on the floor. Eventually, he reached her, finding her barely conscious.

“Chris, stay with me okay. I have to get you out of here,” he took stock of her injuries quickly—a shot to her abdomen, and another bullet to her thigh. This wasn’t looking good.

“No. No! Ah!” she attempted to shake him off, wincing in the process. “Get out of here! Get out! Please, Street. Don’t waste your life!”

“Chris, no. I am not leaving my partner!” Street shook his head forcefully. He managed to scoop her into his arms.

“Are you…?” she choked-out, coughing.

“What?” he asked over the noise, rushing out of the bar. He kept running, trying to find some cover to lay low as the sound of gun pops echoed in the street.

“Are you still my partner?”

The question made him falter, and he almost tripped on the sidewalk.

She thought he abandoned her. The thought made his heart drop.

“Yes, of course Chris. Always.”

His answer was met with no response.

“Chris?”

Street looked both ways before ducking into an empty alleyway. Then, he laid her gently on the ground, her unconscious body sliding far too easily out of his arms.

“Fuck, no, no, no,” he muttered. His hand coming to her neck to find a pulse. He put pressure on the abdomen wound at the same time, hoping it would do something. The pulse was weak and her blood had began to coat his hand, soaking her clothes and dripping onto the sidewalk. “Please Chris, I’m begging you.”

He took in a stuttered breath, feeling his lungs constrict at the sight. She looked…. she looked… no, don’t think it! Don’t you dare think it!

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way,” Street nearly sobbed, but forced himself to gain composure. He reached into an inseam of his pants, finding a burner phone. The phone he hoped he wouldn’t have to use. Only for emergencies, life or death, Hondo had said.

“Street. What’s wrong,” Hicks answered immediately.

“I need medical in the alleyway near Pearson and Olive. ASAP,” he spoke through the tears that were now clouding his vision. Her pulse was weakening. He switched to putting pressure on her leg.

“They’re on the way. Talk to me Street, what happened?” Hicks continued.

“Chris entered during the meeting with the supplier. I don’t know how she found me, just came crashing through the window when Nolan had me pressed against the table. Things went south. She shot Nolan, wasn’t deadly, definitely on purpose. Multiple shooters shot in retaliation. She has two bullet wounds, both lethal. Abdomen and upper thigh,” Street barely managed to speak with a level tone.

There was silence on the other end, then whispers. A second later Hondo’s voice spoke through the phone, “How is she?”

“Vitals aren’t doing well. Pulse is dropping. I can’t put pressure on all her wounds, I…. Hondo I can’t save her,” the last sentence ended with a sob before Street could hold it back. The reality of the situation hit him hard.

“Medical is a minute out. Keep her alive until then. This isn’t your fault Street.”

Street couldn’t respond as he looked at Chris through his teary eyes. His best friend, his partner, his… (Street didn’t dare to finish that last thought), was on the brink of death, and no matter what anybody said it was ultimately his fault. She died thinking he had quit SWAT, thrown his life away, gave up on her. Even if it went against protocol, he should’ve told her.

As the ambulance arrived and everything turned to a blur, the only one thing kept running through his head: I just got the first person I truly ever cared about killed.

If Jim Street was two things it was loyal and defensive. People had said his defensiveness was toxic. How he never realized his own faults. Yet he was also a defender of others, ready to put himself on the line for their sake. And his loyalty? His loyalty, though usually seen as a virtue, seemed to always be his downfall. Or perhaps it was staying loyal to the wrong people. To people like his mother. There was tremendous strength in Street’s loyalty. He’d do anything for those he loved, accepting them no matter their faults, becoming the person they needed him to be, serving them without a single ounce of hesitation. The thing was, Street didn’t trust easily. And he could count the amount of people he loved on one hand. One thing was for certain, realized now more than ever, he loved Chris.

No.

He was in love with Chris.

And so when they took her away into surgery. And at one point the doctor reported her heart stopped. And even though she was stable once more, Street broke down. He crumbled. He cried, not giving a darn who saw. For he had let down the person he cared about most. The girl he loved. And he was powerless in defending her.

When Chris was finally out of surgery, stabilized and recovering, Street sat at her bedside. He didn’t leave. He wouldn’t. He physically couldn’t. He counted her breaths and the beeps on her heart monitor. He would not fail her again.

Members of 20-Squad filtered in and out. Most were confused at what happened, eager to press, yet Hondo and Hicks swore they couldn’t say a word. It left a bitter taste in Street’s mouth, especially after Tan looked at Street with skeptical eyes.

He knew that I had something to do with it. That I had something to do with her being in this situation.

The guilt grew. Tenfold at least.

After 20-Squad had cleared out for the most part, going home their separate ways, Hondo entered the room. He stood over Chris for a moment, holding her hand gently, then releasing it. He sat down in the seat beside Street a moment later.

“We can’t lie to them,” Street muttered. “Lying is what got her into this mess. I should have told her the truth.”

“That isn’t your fault, Street. It wasn’t your call. It was mine. Not saying it was the right one, but at that moment in time, it seemed right,” Hondo explained calmly.

“She blamed herself.”

“What?” Hondo asked, confused.

“Tan texted me about it the day before the meeting; how she was taking my absence harder than the rest of them. And I saw it in her eyes, when she stood with her gun pointed at Nolan. She blamed herself for my departure from SWAT. And this was her last move trying to help me. She thought she was saving me. Do you… do you know what she told me? As she was lying on that floor, bleeding out?” Street didn’t wait for Hondo to answer before continuing on. “As I was trying to pick her up, get us out of that stupid bar, she told me to leave her behind, to not waste my life. And the last thing she said to me? She asked if I was still her partner.”

Hondo sucked in a breath. He had seen Chris’ passion before. How it sometimes clouded her judgement, yet rarely did she act on emotion alone. But for Street she did.

And he had seen her react to blindsides and betrayals before in the workforce, yet she had never taken it so personally. But for Street she did.

As Hondo watched Street let out a breath, wiping away his tears and attempting to gain composure, he couldn’t help but feel complete regret. They had read this wrong.

The first thing Chris saw when she woke was Street, asleep, his head resting on top of her sheets with his hand holding onto her’s. His thumb, she noted, was pressed onto her pulse point.

Attempting to get more comfortable, Chris shifted in bed, waking up her fellow officer. Ex-fellow officer, she reminded herself.

“Chris?” he lifted his head sleepily, it was so comical it almost made her snort. “Chris!”

A look of pure relief overcame his features as he stood and hugged her tightly. As she winced, he loosened his grip, then let go of her completely.

“Are you okay?” she asked, concerned when his eyes quickly became glossy.

“Yes, yes. Now that you’re okay.”

Chris nodded, not knowing what to make of that statement. This silence hung in the room. Thick, uncomfortable silence. It was probably the first time that such silence was between them.

“I am so sorry Chris,” Street spoke a moment or two later. “I wasn’t honest with you. I need you to know it’s not your fault. Any of it. And me keeping things from you, it wasn’t because I didn’t trust you, it’s because… I had orders.”

That was the last thing Chris expected. She sat up so quick a sharp pain ran through her upper body and lower back.

“What…?”

“I was going undercover. Nobody but Hondo, Hicks and Lynch knew about this. After you and Tan showed up, God it was so hard not to blow my cover. And when you kept texting, visiting, I should’ve. I really should’ve Chris,” he explained. “It would’ve saved you.”

“Hey, I’m not dead,” Chris argued quickly, yet another lapse of silence followed as she processed his words.

Undercover. The whole thing was a facade.

Orders. He had direct orders not to tell.

“I just fucked up an entire op. Hicks is gonna have my head,” was all she could murmur. She lifted her eyes, meeting Street’s gaze. “I ruined this for you too. I blew everything to shit.”

“All that matters to me, to anyone, is that you’re alive. God, Chris, fuck that op,” Street said, almost angrily. “I almost lost you.”

His voice shook. He took Chris’ hands into his.

“You were in my arms, unconscious, bleeding out. And I couldn’t do a darn thing to save you. If you had—“ he gulped in a breath, “if you had died that night I would have never forgiven myself. And I guarantee you, the higher ups wouldn’t have either. … But even more so, I… I don’t know how I would’ve went on without you as my partner.”

Chris’ eyes widened. She remembered those words. That question she asked before everything went dark. Never receiving an answer.

“You know what, fuck that. I don’t know how I would’ve went on at all without you in my life. As my partner, my best friend, as… as,” he rambled.

Chris squeezed his hand, silencing his word vomit. She stroked his palm with her thumb.

“I know.”

His gaze, that was on their hands intertwined, snapped up to her eyes.

“What?” he asked, voice breathy, maybe even (dare she say) hopeful?

“I know. Because after nearly losing you from not only SWAT, but just losing you in general I realized… I realized I can’t live without you either.”

And suddenly Chris realized that there was barely any space between them. His hand was holding her’s, their fingers woven together tightly. Chris was fully aware of the fact that their bodies were practically flush, legs pressed together only separated by the thin hospital blanket. Usually Chris hated this type of intimacy. She’d normally hate feeling this vulnerable, this weak. And in no circumstance did she ever imagine herself wanting to kiss somebody so badly while in a hospital bed. Yet here she was, eyeing Street’s lips without any shame.

That was all the confirmation Street needed. He leaned in, cupped her cheek, but paused when their lips were only centimeters apart.

“Kiss me already,” she whispered, practically pleading. He didn’t think he had ever heard her talk so softly yet forcefully at the same time. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”

“Yes ma’am.”