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“Date last night?” Tan asked mildly and Street tried and failed not to pay meticulous attention.
Chris nodded and then pause and shook her head. “I left before the entree hit the table.”
Tan whistled, “That bad, huh?”
Chris shrugged, the corner of her mouth flickering up. “Yeah. Said my arms and shoulders were too much muscle, that I shouldn’t have gone with sleeveless.”
He heard his loud and involuntary snort echo around the locker room at the idea that there was anything about her that wasn’t gorgeous.
His two teammates turned to him, Tan’s face questioning and Chris’ featuring an expression that would have been called blank by anyone else.
She took a deep breath before she spoke. “Look, just because you don’t like women that can out-scored you in pushups--”
Street rallied through a short moment of genuine shock that she thought the joke here was that he, or indeed anyone with a pulse, could agree she was unattractive. “No, no, it’s not that at all. I just meant that that’s ridiculous. Is there something wrong with his eyes?”
Chris kept eyeing him levelly and Tan, with his typical awareness, was now pretending to be acutely interested in his watch.
“He sounds like an ass. Who definitely doesn’t deserve you.” He finished, finally righting his voice into “platonic affront on a dear friend’s behalf”.
“Truer words.” Agreed Tan and continued, eying her with a gentle, loving smile that was brotherly and pure. It occurred to Street that he and Tan had very different interests in this conversation. He forced the thought that followed to just slide away without forming fully, a skill he had adopted and then perfected as a teenager.
“Honestly, Chris,” Tan continued. “Any guy that isn’t thrilled when he shows up to the bar and it’s you sitting there isn’t worth fifteen minutes of your time.”
Chris cuffed Tan on the shoulder, the tension in her shoulders easing a fraction. “You two aren’t exactly objective.”
“Or woman.” Tan corrected himself, hurriedly.
“You’re good,” Chris told him. “I knew what you meant.”
“I mean, yeah, I’m not objective.” Street continued. “You’re even better looking...” He realized what he was about to say. Now that I’ve gotten to know you.
“Than Tan.” He finished, instead, weaving under the headlock the taller man was now attempting.
“I read your interview.”
She tensed up. “Since when are you literate?”
He grinned at that. “Finished my first chapter book last week. Anyway, it was great.”
There was a pause where she stared at him. “‘Great’?” She clarified.
“Yeah,” He confirmed. “You were sincere and sophisticated.”
The tension slid off of her shoulders slowly. “Thanks, Street.”
“Even funny.” He continued on, making sure his voice stayed level and normal. Like he was asking her whether or not she wanted tomatoes with her sandwich. “Anyway.”
“Anyway?” She prompted him after a couple of seconds. There was the very edge of wariness back in her tone but her expression was still warm and her body language open, arms loose at her sides, shoulders facing towards him.
“Just to double check that I’m not secretly the world’s biggest jackass-”
“It’s not a secret-”
He huffed out a single laugh before he finished his sentence. “-I put my arm over your shoulder or squeeze your hand or whatever sometimes.”
The notion that incidental and casual touches that he replayed repeatedly in private were non-events to her stung. But the idea that they caused a fear response she felt had to swallow to keep his respect was agony.
“You do.” She said, eyes sparkling now.
“And that’s okay?” He didn’t expound any farther.
“Yeah.” She rested her forehead against his shoulder for a second and he had to make himself not press his face into her hair. “I would have stopped you if it wasn’t.”
“Yeah, my un-shattered wrist probably should have been my first clue that you’re okay with that. But I just wanted to be sure.” He knew the smile on his face was adoring and soppy and now he was standing here trying to remember how he usually smiled. “I know that sometimes you don’t like making a big deal out of things even if they should probably be at least a medium deal. And I never want to be something you have to protect yourself from.”
“You aren’t. You never could be.” Chris shook her head in emphasis, still close enough that her nose brushed his chest. She continued, posture still lax even though they were breathing the same air and he was flattened by how flattering this level of trust from someone so rigid was. “I was kind of twitchy for a few years but I’m good now.”
“All right. Thanks. I just wanted to make sure I’m not that handsy coworker you secretly hate.”
“It’s not a secret, Street....I still don’t...”
He was careful not to move a single muscle or make a single sound and was rewarded with her finishing the sentence. “It was a lifetime ago but sometimes, if someone sneaks up behind me, it wasn’t.”
“So jumping out in front of you--”
“Just dumb.” She’s smiling at him and he is intoxicated by the idea that he has managed to have a conversation perfectly, just this once. “And clove cigarettes.”
“What?”
“I still can’t stand the smell of clove cigarettes.” She finished with a shudder at the mere thought of the item.
“That part I get.”
“You do?”
“For me it’s Sandalwood.”
“More of a Noir guy?” Chris flattened her palm against his forearm and he understood that this joke was intended to invite him to speak further and confide more deeply, not as a conversation-ender or an accusation of weakness.
“Basically. My Dad’s cologne. Whenever I smell it....” He shook his head, trying to dispel the memory of that odor from his nose.
Chris nodded slowly. “But cedar and oak are fine?”
“Yeah.”
“And thanks for asking about....all that.” He saw her eyes tighten as she continued to speak, that she was awkward and uncomfortable now, the words flowed out in a rush. “Not like, thank you for asking about the worst day of my life, but just thank you for caring if I’m comfortable or not and getting that physical contact could be kind of weird for me sometimes without me having to spell it out with flashcards.”
“Yeah, no problem.” And now it was his turn to spill out words in an embarrassed rush and he felt the blush across his cheeks. “I care if you’re happy or not and I want to do things that make you feel...”
And he settled for being proud that he doesn’t explain that he cares about that literally more than anything else in this mortal coil. And acknowledged that there’s nowhere good for the rest of this sentence to go by trying to put her in a headlock.
They weren’t supposed to be here. They’d had a good time playing a bitterly divorcing couple earlier in the dinner party: Chris hissing low insults about his taste for pornography featuring donkeys that he’d had to work not to laugh at. He replied by telling her that no one in the entire world had ever had a yeast infection for six months and that he bet she didn't have one for when the tall Mailman came by. And they went back and forth and it mostly worked. No one wanted to talk to them.
Not one attendee was disappointed or concerned when Chris declared she was going home now. (“That’s right!” He’d slurred at her just loudly enough for anyone nearby to hear. “Walk out! Just like your father!”)
Chris had yanked her jacket on and then stomped off...to meet him at the East Wing of the house. They’d found the hidden room with it’s file cabinets and lockboxes of dark secrets, had gotten the original copy of this will and solved this case.
Chris glanced up at the twenty security screens and swore. Ten men, with weapons that were more appropriate to wage a war than guard a property. He announced this finding into the wire he was wearing, could only imagine the panic this would cause in the van three blocks down the street.
“House is full of civilians.” He said, feeling the calm that always arrived in these moments drape over him like a heavy cloak. “I’d say they’ll be here in 45 seconds; help is at least three minutes out.”
Chris shoved him into the chair.
“You think it’s better to die sitting?” He heard himself ask.
She mussed her own hair and then his. He tore her shirt away, then unclipped her bra and hurled that behind the desk. Even in the circumstances, Chris undressed was a distraction that demanded his attention for a full second.
“We’re gonna have to sell this.” She sounded almost apologetic.
She clamored onto his lap and kissed him frantically, lips parting for a brief, soft gasp that seemed involuntary, the only thing he was going to jerk off to for weeks except, right, assuming he survived that long. She was unbuckling his belt now, clearly trying not to brush against his crotch which was merciful. He managed to grip one hip with a shaking hand and threaded his other into her hair. She made a noise when he tightened his fingers, careful to still be gentle, that was enough like a moan that again he had to force himself to remember that--
The door flew open and Chris jerked away, trying to cross her arms over her bare chest.
He knew immediately that they’d done well. Several of the men were chuckling, others were trying to leer at her, a final one tried to give him a high-five.
“Sorry.” He slurred, trying to rise out of the chair and clumsily put his pants back on.
“There are bedrooms upstairs.” This one’s annoyed nonchalance suggested that he’d already interrupted many liaisons tonight and was now just over it.
Two others were helping Chris locate her shirt. He filed the entire previous ten minutes away carefully, in a tactic developed and perfected from a not-so-delightful upbringing, because it was a memory that could neither be permanently ignored nor acknowledged, out loud, in any way.
They were milling around after the arrests.
“Sorry about that.” She muttered, hands in pockets and not quite looking at him.
“Why? Worked like a charm. No weapons fired.”
“I’m not saying sorry, as in I would have done anything differently, I’m just meant sorry I didn’t have time to discuss. Or ask.”
“No worries. Feel free anytime.”
The silence between them was immense.
“So we’re good?” Chris confirmed, making eye contact with him now.
“Yeah.” He held out a fist and she bumped it.
“So what would you have done if it was Deacon along with you?”
“Something a lot like that.” Chris laughed with a rueful shrug.
He asked the question while trying so hard not to care deeply about the answer. “What would the difference be?”
“More acting, I guess.” And then she walked out like those words were nothing remarkable at all.
A year ago he would have said that the idea that he’d ever want someone, just one woman, forever was ridiculous. That the idea of committing to just one human felt like coming home, not like walking into a bear trap. There was the best possible job and the most wonderful friend and he’d somehow tripped his way into having both of them but there was no partner he’d want forever.
When he realized he was wrong he didn’t want to write a Hallmark card about it, to put it mildly.
It was humiliating. He smiled whenever someone said her name. He watched every step she took when she was in a room.
And, then, that he would agree to anything, immediately, cheerfully, as long as she was involved.
Chris asked him to pick her up after she had her IUD changed out.
She’d looked like she was expecting him to make fun of her. “I know it’s not like I’m under sedation or anything it’s just that I’m kind of a wuss about it.” She said, with a self-deprecating shrug. “I take the next day off duty, too.”
Street shrugged. “I don’t have a cervix but if someone pierced it I’d probably use some sick time.”
“I can ask my old K9 partner instead-”
Interrupting her, he replied “I’d be honored” and he had meant that.
He took her home and they watched the British Baking Show. First together and then just him while she slept. And there was this moment where he tucked a blanket over her and her fists had clenched. And the moment that she’d recognized him and then gone back to sleep was the next second, her eyes flickering open just once and that trust was so delicious and so fucking heavy.
He stayed with her that night and then the next morning brought her delicious food that he knew hurting women liked, dark chocolate caramels and ice creams and a bag full of different kinds of gummy candies, strings and bears and fruits, and cubes of sharp cheddar and frozen smoothie mixes and then a blender to make smoothies because he remembered hers was broken.
She’d thanked him and said he shouldn’t have taken the trouble. He told her that it was nothing, that it was just something he’d thought of while he was out grocery shopping and that was the truth, too. He would think of something kind he could do for Chris, it would occur to him two or fifteen times a day. The only question he would ask himself was whether or not that was something a friend could plausibly, or even possibly, in a million years do for someone that they were totally fine just being friends with.
The thought process was humiliating and he was totally helpless to stop it anyway and the answer was usually, no, no one who did not want desperately to marry Chris would even remember what her mother’s favorite flowers were, nevermind buy her a bouquet of them on her mother’s birthday.
Chris, thankfully, interrupted this tidal wave of feelings and thoughts with a simple, practical question. “Don’t you need to leave for work, anyway?”
He shook his head and lied before he’d even realized he had decided to. “Nah. I did Alpha squad a solid and swapped.”
It had in fact been the other way around. He shrugged, completing the deception with his casual body language. “Just so happened to work out perfect, I guess.”
“Guess so.” Chris agreed.
So he sat on the couch with her and she put her feet in his lap while they chatted. They tried every gummy in the variety pack and traded until they both had all of their favorites. They talked about what they would name a SWAT-themed nipple tassel company until Chris told him she was laughing too hard, that he was making her hurt worse and so he had to stop being funny. So then they talked about filing taxes and the elephants he’d seen at the zoo one time when he’d hopped the fence one night on a dare and the morning she’d walked in on her brother looking at a Playboy and realized that she liked looking at it, too. They talked about Middle Eastern Geopolitics and the worst woman her Dad had ever dated and how neither of them ever wanted kids but how much she wanted her own Shepherd once she bought a house. If that ever happened.
And it wasn’t until he went home, late that night, he realized that it was the best day he’d had in years.
“Could you....”
She looked up and he was making the same face he made when he was trying to set a new personal record on the bench press or trust another human for a second longer than absolutely necessary. Chris considered setting the buffing cloth down but instinct told her to nod and continue, to spare him the intimacy of eye contact.
“Could you do me a favor and just tell me....” He shuffled a foot awkwardly.
“I’m listening.” She finally offered after a longer pause.
“Yeah, that’s kind of the problem. Could you just tell me that this is all me?”
“That what’s all you?” She prompted, face genuinely baffled and lovely and red lipped and yeah, he was staring at her again.
“That you don’t....” He weighed the words he was going to say. That it isn’t mutual at all. That I’m your best friend and that’s everything you want me to be and if I ever get a hint of something else it’s just wishful thinking.
He decided they were too heavy.
“Apparently, doing this armory inventory is all--”
She scoffed and rose to her feet to help him.
It was so fast he wouldn’t have even been sure whether or not it had happened except for the looks on everyone’s faces. Hondo with a single brow raised, Deacon with eyes wide with shock. Tan was blinking rapidly while Luca gave him a small, tight but entirely sincere smile.
Her forehead was against his shoulder now and he wrapped his arms around her. She’d need thirty seconds or so, he knew, because her eyes just barely got red around the rims when she had to try not to cry and she wouldn’t want anyone to see that.
“I’m fine.” He told her the top of her helmeted head and it didn’t matter that he couldn’t actually feel her breasts pressing into him through the armor because his imagination was filling in the details just fine and she smelled like sweat and gunpowder. He’d known, of course, that she would come for him in every world where she still had legs. He’d understood that, he finally realized, that his only worry had been that she would be harmed rather than himself abandoned.
He wondered when his psyche had shifted to be one that could accommodate that level of trust. Then he finally sunk down slowly into a chair as he understood both that this feeling was never going to go away and that it was too immense and omnipresent to ever simply work around.
He spent ten minutes trying to find Chris to tell her. She was in the last place he’d even dare to check, seated on her bed. He could tell by the way tension corded across her entire body that she had already heard.
They both said precisely the same words at exactly the same time.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked up at him, confused, before turning away from the eye contact like it had burned. Chris rallied first, continuing. “I’m so sorry. I know that this team is everything to both of us. I know that and I’m sorry that...I know you’re leaving so you don’t have to work with me.”
“That isn’t...” He realized that what she was saying was, through a certain lens, simply the truth and closed his mouth.
“I tried so hard. Probably as hard as I trained to try out for SWAT.” She continued.
“To what?” He had planned out this conversation. He had considered several lies that he might be able to tell, that he wanted to leave for a team where he might ever be promoted, that he wanted the chance to finally prove that he didn’t need Buck’s nepotism to get by, or even that he couldn’t explain it; it was just time for a change but he still wanted to be friends outside of work the same way he wanted oxygen multiple times a minute. He hadn’t picked which one to go with yet but it clearly didn’t matter since she wasn’t following the script he had imagined at all.
“I tried my best and I guess I still kind of...” She buried her face into her hands.
“Chris, what?”
“This is the most embarrassed I’ve been in my entire life.” The words were muffled. He reached out to pull her palms down from her face and then remembered what he’d had to do, just how bad this has gotten and let his hands flop to his side instead.
“Why are you embarrassed about any of this?” And then his voice sounded like he was speaking around a razor, tight and wretched and a bunch of other words he didn’t attend enough of high school to know.
“I gave you space. I encouraged you to date other women, God, I edited those dating profiles and told you which photo and helped you pick out trendy dessert spots; I was so careful to act like none of that bothered me.”
“That stuff bothered you?”
The expression on her face was now split precisely between desperation and disdain for what she clearly regarded as his deep stupidity. “It wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle. Except for last week, when I messed up, before that....All I really did was leave the room whenever someone asked you about a date but I guess that was enough. And however I look at you, I mean, I try not to but I’m sure I still do sometimes.”
He was trying so hard to follow what she was saying but it was like trying to track a felon who passed over a river and he focused on memorizing these moments, like he was undercover because he knew he was going to have to root through each and every word and tone.
“I mean, Luca sees everything, so I know he knew before I did but I was hoping you’d kind of just missed it.”
“I asked for a transfer because I realize I don’t value my teammates equally.”
She looked like she’d leaned in for an embrace and then been punched in the gut but just nodded once.
“No, fuck, I don’t mean I care less about you....Look, if it ever comes down to it, if I ever needed to choose, I wouldn’t pick the likeliest to survive.”
“What?”
“I’d pick you. Every single time. As long as there was any chance at all. And that’s so dangerous and I’ve been trying to keep that under control but I don’t think that I can anymore. I can’t work with you. I can’t.”
“Let’s just...” She blinked slowly, trying to assimilate this vast, new reality. “It kind of sounds like we might actually be on the same page here.”
“This job is important to both of us.” He began, feeling the world tilt again and indulging in a moment of being off-center, uncertain; something he never would have permitted himself for a lesser revelation.
“It’s everything,” She agreed, before gesturing at him with the top of head. “Well, almost.”
“So let’s just say I transfer squads, then we can date. Openly. Have both.”
“That’s...” He could almost see her heart rate slow down as they both slowly accepted the reality that all of the rumination and agonizing, all of the blinding life-affirming joy and crushing longing, was actually an experience they had both been sharing. “That’s way too much for you to invest right on the outset. This squad is family to both of us.”
“No,” He said, “I mean, yeah, I love all of you, but it isn’t too much. You didn’t ask me to do this. And even if you weren’t interested--”
“I am.” She interrupted.
“And that’s fantastic but I’d still need to move on. So It’s worth it. Frankly, it’s the best deal anyone has ever gotten.”
She continued the conversation precisely the way he’d known she would. “And if it doesn’t work out?”
“I’ll give it everything I’ve got to make that not happen but wherever we go from here, if it just isn’t right, I’ll always be your friend. Unless you tell me to leave.”
“I won’t ever want you to leave. You know I’m good for it. That if--” She took a risk and corrected, “Since we’re deciding to move forward, that isn’t a choice I’m making casually.”
“That goes without saying.” He nodded, the blinding abundance of this moment somehow heavier than every moment he thought he’d probably die.
“So I guess, if you’re all in then I am, too.”
He wondered if that sentence was too long to engrave on the inside of an engagement ring, mouth dry at the notion that if he rested his palm against her neck she would lean into the touch.
“Yes,” He managed to reply. “Please.”