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The waves keep crashin’
What would happen if I asked you to stay?
Whoa, say you won’t
Let me drown in troubled waters alone
Oh, throw me a rope
Won’t you tell me that you’re still holdin’ on?
Troubled Waters - Alex Warren
All Chris can see when she closes her eyes is the red of his blood slipping between her fingers. She scrubbed till her hands were raw and stinging. But it didn’t help. She can still feel it. She showered twice and even in her pajamas, all she can feel is a shirt slick with blood.
She thought the white tank top and gray shorts might be enough to prove to her mind that she’s not covered in blood. Light colors that would definitely show red. But it hasn’t helped.
Standing at her sink after washing them again, she raises her eyes to the ceiling and blows out a deep breath. She could use a drink but that’s probably not the answer.
She can’t sleep. She shouldn’t even be here. She never should have left him. The color had drained from his face so fast and spilled out over her hands. She didn’t keep it together - she’d panicked immediately. She barely remembers yelling at him to just stay with her.
But she can still feel Hondo pulling her off of him, telling her she did everything she could. She’d watched him be loaded in the back of an ambulance and her heart had physically ached.
Her chest cracks wide open as the tears come again. She can’t keep losing people - she can’t survive it. Especially Street. She’s fucking in love with him and she didn’t even tell him.
Chris wipes at her face, unsure of why she even let them talk her into coming home. She’s just alone with too many thoughts and emotions ripping her insides to shreds. She’s been so scared of her feelings for him and she almost lost him. Forever.
Without ever getting to be together.
It’s the wrong time and she knows it but it doesn’t stop her from finally accepting it. She’s head over heels for him and she’s done pretending she isn’t.
But she’s pissed the fuck off at him too. It makes it complicated. She looks down at her hands, trying to see them for what they are. Clean. Blood free.
Her skin is red, raw and her knuckles might be bleeding from how hard she scrubbed. Or maybe she missed a spot and it’s his. She can’t risk it but before she can turn the water on again, she’s startled by a knock at her door.
It’s midnight. She doesn’t want company and she’s sure it’s probably someone checking up on her.
She heads for the door fully prepared to turn them away but when she looks to see who it is, she flings it open immediately.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” The air rushes out of her lungs at the sight of him. The sling on his arm. The way he leans to one side with a bag hanging in his hand.
“Good to see you too, Chris.”
“You’re supposed to be -“
“Discharged for good behavior.” The flash of his dimples tells her that’s a big ass lie. That and the fact it’s so late.
“You left AMA? Are you insane?”
“Went straight through. What are they keeping me for?”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Even if she understands it, even if she would’ve done the same. It’s different because it’s him and she can’t even look at him without seeing the stunned expression on his face when he realized he’d been shot.
Now he’s looking at muscle damage, possible nerve damage. A recovery littered with setbacks if it’s more serious than they anticipate.
Every single detail is burned into her brain forever. It happened right in front of her face. But even the flash of anger scorching her veins doesn’t stop her from grabbing his good arm and dragging him inside.
He stumbles into her, wincing on impact.
“Sorry.” Chris looks at him then, really focusing on his face. He’s still so pale. “You’re so stupid.”
“Did you just apologize then call me stupid?”
“Why are you here? How did you get here? What about your shoulder, it’s -“
“It’s fine. Chris, I’m okay.”
But he wasn’t. He isn’t. She watched the blood pour out of him and tried her best to keep it in but it wasn’t enough. She’d felt him pass out, go limp against her.
She makes him sit because she isn’t about to watch him lose consciousness again. The way he winces just makes it even clearer he’s not okay.
She tries to take in a breath and calm down but it gets trapped in her throat. Fuck, she can’t even breathe and he’s on her couch with bullet holes in him. She’s never told him she loves him. She’s never told him he’s her best friend.
He grabs one of her hands as she paces next to him, his thumb rubbing over her raw knuckles.
“What happened to your hand?”
“Nothing.” She pulls it back, cradling it to her chest. But all that does is show him both of them are red and cracked.
He’s in pain, sweat on his brow and shallow breaths make it obvious but she feels the ache deep in her bones as if she’s the one nursing a gunshot wound. A bit lower and he’d be gone. She’d be wrecked forever, she wouldn’t survive it. Barely feels like she’s gonna survive this and he’s right here in front of her.
“You’re in pain.”
“Tends to happen when you’re shot.” He offers up a smirk but she’s not in the mood.
“It’s not funny.” Her voice cracks before she can even try to stop it. How much more can she possibly cry? She presses her palms to her eyes and shakes her head. This is stupid. He’s right in front of her.
“Chris, hey, look at me.” She can’t or she’s going to burst into tears and she doesn’t fucking know why this has to hurt so much.
“I’m mad at you.” She probably looks like a toddler and sounds like one too. Standing with her eyes covered, telling him she’s mad. She is. She’s so fucking pissed off at him.
“That’s okay.” For some reason that makes it worse. His gentle tone, the way accepts it as if he expected it.
“Why the fuck did you do that? Push me-“
“You know why.”
She does. But is this really the time to drag out their feelings?
“Chris, I’m not gonna let you take a bullet if I can stop it.”
“You didn’t stop it. You were…you got shot, Jim!” She drops her hands, clenching them into fists while hot tears leave trails down her cheeks. “And I can’t…lose you.”
A heavy silence settles. She rakes her eyes over him from head to toe, taking in the shadows under his eyes, the gray tone of his skin. Her gaze catches on his left shoulder. She doesn’t know if he’s quiet because she called him by his name or if he’s just letting her work through it in her head.
“I - when you didn’t move I thought,” she pauses, trying to find the words but some sort of whimper comes out instead.
He tries to stand, struggles a little too much and Chris steps forward to block him but all that does is put her within reach. Then his hand tangles with hers and she doesn’t pull away this time.
“I can’t lose you.”
“I’m right here.” He tugs her hand up to rest against his cheek and she closes her eyes. “I’m going to be fine.”
“I couldn’t get all the blood off. I kept scrubbing but…” she trails off with a shrug, pulling away from him. Just for a moment of clarity. “Wouldn’t come off.”
She almost lost him but she didn’t. He could have died but he didn’t. She’s so tired and her body physically aches but he’s here with her.
He shouldn’t be but he is. Maybe it will be okay. Maybe they can get through this nightmare together.
And then she does something stupid or something needed. She drops onto the couch next to him, her thigh pressed alongside his and it still isn’t close enough.
This time when she looks down at her hands, they’re clean.
“Why did you come here?”
“The team had to remove you from the hospital chair when visitation ended.”
“They did not. Deac was just lucky I was in an agreeable mood.”
“I’m not sure telling everyone to ‘fuck off’ is an agreeable mood.” His knee bumps into hers playfully and in any other circumstance she might smile. “I came here because I knew you’d be awake. I knew you’d be upset and I knew you needed to physically see me out of that hospital bed.”
“You scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry.” She can tell every word is hurting him, every breath. “Chris, I’m sorry you had to be the one there. But I’m not sorry I pushed you out of the way.”
“I’m not okay with that.”
“I’m not asking you to be.”
“You didn’t have your gear, Street. It was the dumbest thing you could’ve done.” They’d both been in civilian clothes, not a tactical vest in sight.
“Kept you safe.” He’s staring at her. She can feel it but she can’t bring herself to look at him.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“You’ll never have to ask me.” And she hates that she understands. She hates that she knows why he did it and he’s scared to say the words.
Chris swipes at a stray tear on her face and blows out a heavy sigh. Her head aches from crying, her shoulder hurts from slamming into the ground when he pushed her. Her chest aches because he’s hurt so much worse.
He’s on medical leave, physical therapy will be required and he might not regain full range of motion. What happens then? She doesn’t know. She just doesn’t know anything anymore and everything is raw. She has nothing left to give today and her body sags under the weight of it.
So they sit in silence, side by side with their shoulders and legs touching. She steals a glance, just to convince herself this is real.
He reaches for her hand and she lets him take it, she lets him run his thumb over the skin she scrubbed off. She’s done. She’s just done with the day, the week, everything.
She’s done being his friend when it’s not enough. She’s done acting like she doesn’t know how he feels about her. She’s done being scared of it because almost losing him was way fucking scarier.
When she turns to face him he’s already pulling her hand to his chest, to hold it against his ribs. With her hand tucked under the sling she can feel the steady beat of his heart against her palm.
“I’m right here.”
Something inside her breaks, crumbles into a million pieces and she doesn’t think before she’s climbing into his lap. She just moves. Wrapping herself around him and hugging him tight. Probably too tight but she can’t let go.
He doesn’t complain, doesn’t wince, doesn’t move her off. He wraps one arm around her and squeezes just as hard. She tries not to crush his left arm between them or press anywhere near his wound but she feels like she can’t get close enough.
He’s in for a long recovery and she doesn’t know what it looks like but she knows where she’ll be. With him.
She presses her face against his, cheek to cheek as his fingers slide up the back of her neck. Then she whispers something that will change everything.
“I love you.” The ache in her chest eases, her shoulders feel lighter and her heart starts to race.
He pulls back, looking her in the eye as she tries not to avoid his. She said it. It’s out. She will not mess it up by backtracking now. He doesn’t say anything and the silence makes her question everything.
But then he leans in and presses a kiss to her lips and maybe the silence isn’t so bad. The day melts away with the slide of his mouth on hers but the sting of tears threatening has her pulling back. He’s hurt. She’s…bruised. Emotions are high. They should probably cool it, sleep on it.
“I love you.” He whispers it with his lips touching hers. And then he tips his head back slowly, to give her a small smile. “I’d even take a bullet for you.”
And just like that the moment is gone because it’s too soon and she feels ripped apart all over again. That’s the problem. He did take one for her and she’s a fucking mess because of it.
“Too fucking soon, Street.” She tries to move off his lap but he winces and she stays.
“You’re right. Bad joke. I’d blame the meds but I didn’t take them.” Not a shock when he came out of sedation trying to refuse meds and asking for Chris. Demanding to see her before he’d agree to any sort of medication.
This time she does move off his lap. Careful not to jostle him around too much but he still bites back a groan.
“You’re taking something. You left the hospital without -“
“Can I borrow your couch for the night?”
“No.” He’s in pain, it’s in every slow move. She’s not gonna leave him on a couch. “You can borrow the bed.”
He doesn’t say anything and she leaves him on the couch to go rifle through her medicine cabinet. She needed some air anyway, away from him. Just a moment to calm herself and steady her shaking hands.
She thought he’d died. Like Erika. When he hit the ground next to her and didn’t move she really thought he was gone. And then he’d yelled out in pain and she never felt so relieved in her life. Short lived relief once she saw all the blood.
But it doesn’t hit her until she walks back into the living room with a glass of water and a bottle of pain meds that he was probably terrified too. Probably still is.
He takes the pills without a fuss and she leans down to help him stand. He’s wobbly, heavy against her side, but he doesn’t falter in his steps.
He looks out of place in her bedroom but she knows if they do this then he’ll slowly become a part of it. She doesn’t plan to back out. Street looks around freely, taking it all in and she’ll admit she uses that distraction to look at him.
To really look at him as he slowly sits on her mattress and reaches out to touch the edge of a lamp on her table. He pulls back immediately with a soft pain filled groan. He’s breathing. He’s in her bed. And her hands are still clean when she looks down at them.
“When do you need to change bandages?”
“Morning.”
“You’re sleeping with the sling on. Don’t even think about taking it off.”
“Bossy in bed. Noted.”
She rolls her eyes but this time it does pull a smile from her. She leans over and gives him a quick kiss.
“You have no idea.” She adds one more soft press of her mouth to his, lingering just a little longer. “Pain level?”
“Eight.” It’s honest and terrible. “Maybe higher when I move.”
She starts moving pillows and stacking them up. He needs to sleep propped up, she’ll sacrifice every pillow if needed to make it happen.
He’s still staring at her.
“I thought I lost you too.” He whispers it like he doesn’t really want to admit it but she hears him loud and clear. “Thought it hit you. Saw the blood on you. Didn’t realize it was mine till the pain hit. You can be mad I left the hospital but I needed to be near you.”
Fuck. They’re gonna need so much therapy after this and she doesn’t know how they’ll get through the next few hours or days. She only made it through Erika’s death because of him.
Now she understands all too well what he meant when he said he’d never recover if he lost her. Because she knows without a doubt she couldn’t survive losing him.
She helps him lean back on the pillows she stacked up. In the morning she’ll hound him about prescriptions and wound care but for tonight she just can’t do it. She didn’t want to leave him at the hospital, fought to stay but ultimately knew she couldn’t.
Now he’s in her bed after breaking out on his own because apparently he wanted her around too. She did need to see him standing, walking around in plain clothes, even if it’s just sweats and a shirt she’s pretty sure she’s seen Luca wear. She briefly wonders how he got the shirt on but it doesn’t matter.
His eyes are closed when she crawls in the empty space next to him. She might’ve given him her favorite pillow but she doesn’t tell him that when she settles against one that isn’t nearly as comfortable.
She pulls the blanket over them both but not before he cracks one eye open to watch it slide up her bare legs. Sharing a bed with him wasn’t exactly on her to-do list any time soon but she still wishes it was under different circumstances. Clearly he does too.
The future is uncertain. His career might not be the same but she doesn’t mention it now. She’s just going to be in this moment with him. He reaches out for her and she slides closer. His skin is still too pale, clammy and his breathing is shallow but she’ll take it.
He’s alive and her hands aren’t covered in his blood.