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Chris has never liked summer very much.
It’s all sand in places sand shouldn’t be, and sweat sticking hair to the back of her neck.
LA in the summer is even worse. Tactical gear, designed to keep you safe, is not made for the humidity of LA. The sweat clings to her, and going home provides little relief. There’s rolling blackouts, and the AC seems to be broken more often than not.
She wishes for a break, a moment of relief, but the heat seems to permeate every crevice of her life.
Chris wonders how criminals are still able to function in this heat.
HQ has generators, but Hicks is adamant they conserve the power so the AC is never turned on high enough to drive away the sweat that seems to permanently grace her brow.
She longs for a cold shower; vaguely wonders if her water bill has gone up due to the length of these showers.
Street on the other hand, loves the summer.
He loves the way the sun shines on his shoulders, loves the way the sea feels when he dives in after a long day of work.
He doesn’t mind the heat, the sweat, chooses to think of it as a reminder of a job well done.
The heat doesn’t feel all consuming, he has a bike, and the breeze as he rides is welcome.
He wishes he could provide Chris relief.
Street watches as Chris desperately tries to pull her short hair away from her neck, tries to help her but neither seem to be able to keep it all up. He watches as she lets out a frustrated sigh, eyes track her to the bathroom where she splashes cold water onto her neck.
He wishes he could do something, anything, to take away her discomfort. She can’t stand to touch him when they sleep, his body heat too much for her already overstimulated skin.
He misses her.
Every morning Chris tells Street that she loves him, kisses him deeply, but he can’t help but miss the touches they used to share.
They could be sat in HQ idly playing chess, trying to stay cool, yet Street will still see the sheen of sweat that coats her collarbones. She keeps shifting uncomfortably and he knows that, while she’ll never complain aloud, she’s suffering.
He’s trying to help her, in ways that aren’t so obvious; hands her an ice cold water bottle every half hour, insists that the ice lollies in the freezer were definitely not bought for her.
He knows Chris is aware what he’s doing, her silence on the matter a testament to the extent of her discomfort.
Street cannot enjoy summer when he sees the bone-deep exhaustion in Chris’ eyes.
-
The heat seems to lay thicker than usual; Chris has been tossing and turning all night, her eyes bags so prominent that he wonders if she’s actually been sleeping at all.
He cannot take her distress any longer.
Street calls into work sick for the pair of them; they can afford it, he’s not sure if Chris has ever even used one of her vacation days.
She tries to protest, but even she can recognise that she’d be useless in the field today. So she watches as Street rifles in their drawers, and packs a bag for them.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can cool off. Wear a bikini.”
“Oh yeah? Which one?”
“The black one.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“Don’t think we’ll be cooling off if I wear that one.”
Street laughs.
“Get your mind out the gutter Chris.”
-
They’re riding down the highway on his bike. She’s got her arms wrapped around his waist and he can’t help but revel in the touch; it’s been too long.
She’s got a white t-shirt thrown on top, so sheer it’s almost see through on and he can feel her pressed to his back. She’s laughing, he can hear it above the roar of the engine and he hasn’t heard her so carefree since summer begun.
He’s glad they’re both wearing helmets, dark visor protects his smile, as he drives just a little faster.
Eventually, Street slows to a stop, removes his own helmet, then Chris’ , and he smiles as he sees her ruffled hair.
She’s in better spirits, the ride has cooled her, and now she’s simply curious as to why this destination requires a day off.
She lifts her arms, lets him remove her shirt, removes his, and pushes her denim shorts down her legs.
Chris watches as Street attempts to keep his focus on her eyes.
She lets it slide, allows him to take her hand, and guide her to wherever he wants them to go.
Her eyes sparkle when she sees what he’s planned for them.
“Cliff-diving?”
“Yeah, you enjoyed the skydiving, and the water is cold.”
Chris’ heart beats faster at his response.
She takes his hand and squeezes it in a silent thank you, before leading them both to the edge.
“Ready?”
He nods, and she pulls them both over the edge.
-
The cold water hits like a shock to the system, and for the first time in weeks Chris thinks that maybe summer isn’t so bad.
When they emerge from under the water she’s smiling. She treads water as she looks over at Street. He’s all tan skin and hard lines that fade into soft, and she’s filled with the overwhelming urge to go press the smile on his lips off with hers.
Remarkably, her bikini has stayed on during the jump; she swims over to him, wraps her legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders, and touches her forehead to his.
“Thank you, I love you. The city was driving me crazy.”
In lieu of an answer, Street closes the distance and kisses her.
That night, the heatwave finally breaks, and Street wakes up to find Chris’ head on his chest, her hair ticking her chin.
He texts Hondo and informs him they’re both not coming in again.