My very first and shortest S.W.A.T. fan-fic
Written and edited by: Anti Darth Ani
Author's Note: Just a short little one shot I wrote after watching the movie again during my Spring Break. Read and review please, if you have a little time to spare :P
Gamble knew it was over even before he fell backwards. He knew he'd lost before he stumbled right into the path of the roaring train. Jim Street knew it was over as well, but it didn't make his conscious any lighter. He realized it was either him or Gamble, and he was glad it hadn't been him, but the realization didn't comfort him as he watched his former partner, his former friend, plunge back into his death.
Street forced himself to hold back the contents of his almost empty stomach as he watched the moving train butcher his friend. He fell onto his knees and the heels of his feet. It was either you or me, Street thought, and you lost this time, Gamble. But none of his thoughts made the site of the severed body any easier to look at.
Jim Street's eyes snapped open, his eyes dilating to try to catch some of the very little light in the bedroom. He took a deep breath and swallowed, trying to forget the reoccurring nightmare he'd had for the past two weeks. He shook his head to himself, trying to clear his mind and make the staining image disappear for his mind, at least for a little while.
Pushing the sheets away from him, Street slid his legs over the side of the bed and then brought his hands up to his face, resting his elbows on his legs. For a moment, he just sat and stared down between his fingers at his legs. Rubbing his temple with the palm of his hand, Jim Street stood up and walked quietly out of the room, shutting the door closed after him.
He followed the short hallway into the living room. Cursing softly when he stepped on a water gun, he kicked the plastic toy across the room and walked into the kitchen, thanking the pain in his foot for distracting him from his dreams. He reached the refrigerator and opened the door towards him, leaning against the edge of the door and looking at the contents inside, squinting at the bright light.
His hand instinctively reached for the closest beer bottle, but as his fingers touched the neck of the bottle, he pulled back. The last thing he needed was to get himself drunk and even more depressed. So he grabbed the next closest, a water bottle.
Shutting the door, Jim unscrewed the cap of the bottle and took a long swig of the chilly water. He'd changed since he'd joined the S.W.A.T. team again, he knew that. And he'd had to change in order to deal with Gamble's death at his hands. But how was he supposed to just compartmentalize everything and try to move on? He couldn't deal with anything yet and everyone else was going to have to deal with that for now.
The water was making him think, and thinking was the last thing he wanted to do at the current time. He just wanted to sit and let his brain freeze for a minute, maybe an hour even, to let himself forget for a while and deal with it all later.
"I thought I heard a noise out here," Chris Sanchez said, leaning across the counter to look at Jim in the kitchen. "At first, I thought someone had broken it," she told him.
Street looked at the baseball bat she'd just set on the counter. "Yeah, I can see that," he observed, polishing off the bottle of water and tossing it into the trashcan. Sanchez stood up and went to set the baseball bat back where it belonged on top of the bookcase in the living room. She stood up on her tiptoes, but she still couldn't get the bat back up. Jim walked up behind her and took the bat, easily reaching up to put the bat away.
"Eliza's asleep," Chris whispered, turning around to face Jim. "You should come back to bed," she told him as she grabbed the bottom of his undershirt with a fist and pulled him a little closer.
Street looked down at his S.W.A.T. teammate, who stared back up at him. With his index and middle finger, he pushed back some of her tangled hair while his thumb stroked the top of her forehead. "I can't sleep," he told her bluntly, letting go of her face.
"The nightmares will stop," she assured him. "Maybe not tonight, maybe not tomorrow. But there are going to stop sooner or later." Jim nodded, turning away from her. He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say, so he just stared across the room at the water gun he'd kicked earlier.
"You need to try to sleep, Jim," she told him, biting her lower lip. "Tomorrow's the service and they want you to speak." Street turned around to face her, but avoided her eyes. Sighing, he turned and walked back towards the bedroom.
She'd almost gotten used to his behavior by now. He was so calm during the day, working and seeming to really enjoy his job. But at night, he tossed and turned and when he woke up from the nightmares, he was also so distant and cold. Chris just didn't know how to get through to him. She followed him silently back to the bedroom, stopping quickly at the door to her daughter's bedroom to make sure she was sleeping soundly. Then she walked to the next door and watched as Jim climbed back into her bed. "You can't keep doing this," she told him, sliding in next to him and propping her head up on a pillow.
"Doing what?" Jim asked, staring straight up at the ceiling.
"Keeping it all inside. If you'd just let it go, you could finally get over it. And then it wouldn't haunt you night after night, week after week." Chris reached to the night table to turn off the lamp she'd turned on when she woke up. "Tomorrow will make things better, if you just go and get the closure you need."
Street rolled over onto his side, facing away from Sanchez. He didn't need closure, at least not the kind she was implying. Right now, he just needed some sleep.
He felt funny in a suit and tie. And the sleeves of the jacket were beginning to itch. He didn't want to go, didn't want to hear what they all had to say. But Chris was making him, forcing his arm into the jacket and his ass out the door. He wanted to just strangle her, but he knew she could overtake him in a heartbeat and then he would really be in trouble. So he let her shove him out the door. And he let Eliza take his hand and lead him to the car.
Chris locked up the door and then followed Jim and her daughter into the driveway. "Someone is going to pay if I have to wear this dress all day and there isn't an open bar after the funeral." She walked past Street, who was holding open the passenger's side door for her, and stepped into the car. "Got your seat belt on?" she asked, turning around in her seat to look at her daughter who sat in the middle seat.
Eliza nodded. "Yes, Mama," Jim teased, clipping his belt on. Chris smirked and pulled on her own seat belt. "You'll thank me one of these days," she told him as he started up the car, "when you go smashing into another car and the only thing that keeps you from going through that windshield is that belt."
"Whatever you say, Ma," he continued, knowing that Eliza was smiling in the seat behind him. She didn't really understand what had happened to Gamble- she was too young to know the truth, Chris thought. But she knew someone had died, and it wasn't a complete accident, so Jim tried to keep her as happy as possible.
They reached the cemetery with only a few minutes to spare. Chris helped Eliza out of the car while Jim sat in the seat, his hands holding the steering while so tight that his knuckles turned a light white. He stared straight ahead, where he could see Gamble's casket, all ready to be lowered into the ground.
Sanchez walked over to his side of the car. "Come on, Street. We don't have all day." She didn't sound mad. In fact, she spoke with a soothing voice which surprised Jim so much that he turned to face her. He got out of the car and shut the door.
Eliza immediately took his hand. Jim looked down at the little girl, so sweet and so innocent, while Chris looped her arm through his. "Closure," she whispered, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before heading towards the casket and the memory Street could never forget.