jim street oneshots

worry [ ❥, ❦ ]

You're jumping up off the sofa and heading for the door before Street's bike even reaches the end of the driveway. The beams of light from his headlamps slip in through the drapes and cast the darkened living room in a harsh fluorescent glow, almost ethereal as it bounced off the picture frames and the blank TV screen. The cold of the floorboards bite at the bare soles of your feet as you dash from the sofa to the doorway but that doesn't stop you - if anything, it spurs you on even more.

Wrenching the front door open, it takes your eyes a second to adjust. Even though it's only late fall, the LA nights have already begun growing colder and darker than the luscious summer nights you'd become accustomed to. It's just past midnight so you'd spent the last few hours nestled up in front of the TV in the comforting darkness of the house, the only light in the room besides the TV being the small screen of your phone that you'd had clutched in your hand all evening.

The rough concrete of the driveway digs into your feet uncomfortably. Your threadbare sweatshirt and loose pajama pants offer feeble protection from the cold and it's not long before you can feel gooseflesh begin to pebble your skin. It does little to keep you warm, but the anxiety you've been simmering in all night is fuel enough to keep you going.

You can already hear him as you cross the yard towards him. A low, soft chuckle only amplified by his helmet as he throws the kickstand into place and swings a leg over the bike to stand up. You know you must look a state; clothes askew from lounging on the couch all night, eyes wide from fighting off sleep and hobbling awkwardly as you try and take the pressure off your bad leg - off the very injury that landed you at home on sick leave, instead of out in the field with your team.

The pain beginning to flare up in your leg makes shortening the distance between you difficult, but not impossible. Pushing past Luca's truck for leverage - which elicits a grumble of disapproval sent in your direction - lets you speed up a little in your race to him.

He's got his back turned to you, busying himself with taking off his helmet, when you reach him. When you slam into him you nearly take him off his feet, but those SWAT skills he's always boasting about must kick in as he steadies himself before you two topple over. Your arms latch around his waist in an iron grip, turning your head to the side so your cheek presses against the smooth leather of his jacket. One of his hands presses against the seat of his bike for balance, while the other one twists around to grab at your waist in an effort to stop your both from careening over onto the driveway.

"Babe- ", he manages to get out, a chuckle following. Once he's assured that you're both steadied, the hand that's on your waist moves to pat at your hands that are latched around his stomach. Stroking your knuckles gently, he weaves his fingers in with your own and it's only then that he notices you're shaking.

Street waits till he can hear Luca's 'ew, gross', followed by the slam of the front door before he moves. Turning around is hard with your body pulled flush against him but he makes it work - squirming around in your grip until he's able to cup your cheek in his hand, and tilt your face upwards so he can see you through the visor of his helmet.

You back up a little so he can lift up his arms to take off his helmet. Once it's off, he twists around to place it on the handlebar of his bike.

He looks back down at you again, now able to fully take you in. You don't give him much of a chance, though, when you pull him back in and hide your face in his chest.

There's a beat of silence, then a soft, 'hi'.

"Hi, babe." Street's voice is gentle when he replies. He knows how hard these last few weeks have been on you, how unfamiliar it's been for you to be watching from the sidelines instead of knee-deep in the fight with your team. It's not the first night you've met him at the door wide-eyed and arms outstretched, so he knows better than to shake off your concern like it's nothing. So he lets you avoid his eyes and tuck your chin into his chest for as long as it takes for your breathing to even back out, and then he moves.

"You okay?" When you pull away from him, your first motion is to take his jaw into your hand and tilt his head from side to side. He nods and shakes your hand off his face, smiling down at you.

"I saw it on the news." Your nerves adequately soothed, you step back and give him a little breathing room. Your hands still linger on his waist, slipping into the belt loops of his jeans. "Only caught a little bit of it, but it looked rough. Everyone okay?"

His hands drift to the small of your back, slipping under the hem of your shirt and stroking gently at the exposed skin. "We're good. Tan took a couple hits when he got made during his UC gig, but otherwise we're all whole."

"S'good."

"How are you doing? Speed you came out that door, I'm surprised you didn't meet us at the door at HQ."

You hum gently as you thread your fingers through his hair. The short strands are tousled from his helmet, and they curl slightly when they fall back through your fingers. "I'm banned, remember? After the kombucha thing?"

"Come on, Hondo was only joking when he said that."

"Hicks wasn't!"

A beat of silence pases over the two of you, until the pointed look in Jim's gaze urges you to answer him.

"I'm good. Had my physio appointment today and the doc said she's happy with my progress, and that I could be looking at a four-week healing time instead of six."

Street's eyes brighten in the most lovable way, and you can't resist pressing a kiss to his cheek. He smiles and moves so that your next kiss lands on his lips, grinning all the while until you pull apart.

"I can't wait to have you back. It's not the same without you there." He's almost sheepish when he replies, rubbing the back of his neck while he scuffs his feet on the drive. "Though, I am gonna miss coming home to you like this everyday."

"I know I won't. All I do is cook and clean and talk to Duke while the two of you are gone." You scoff. "Feel like a damn maid half of the time."

"Well shit, there's your next costume sorted."

"Babe, Halloween is weeks away?"

"Who said anything about Halloween? I'm thinkin- ow!"