Author's note: Okay, little premise: this story is set somewhere around midseason 2, and going on from there, without any particular tag to any episode, but always trying to respect the SWAT world.
I need to say that I have been planning, researching and writing this story for several months now, and maybe it's time for it to see the light, so I hope I can give you something.

A last little thing before leave you to the story, thanks to my Beta Reader for the precious help!

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The old door slammed open as Luca smashed it with the battering ram. The ripple of the wood crackling and splintering resonated in his arms, fast reaching his elbows and making him want to abandon the heavy tool as soon as he could.
The SWAT members rapidly penetrated while their gears protected them from the wooden splinters and the suffocating dust the breach liberated into the air.

The team was after two armed subjects hiding in that abandoned building for a while, and now they were finally able to break in and neutralize them.
Tan was the first to get in, then Street and all the others behind them.

"Right side clear!" Tan yelled.

"Left side clear!" Street said loud and clear.

Entering, they found before them a large ramp of stairs which was the only access to the first floor. Its handrails were in wood marquetry and a blue carpet elegantly led up to the top of it. Even if those details were distracting, being so different from the rest of the house which indeed, was quite ordinary, they could not afford distractions. They had to focus on more important details; the creaking of the old floor, the consumed drapes slightly blowing and the footsteps left in the dirt were all signs of the subjects' passage that could lead the way directly to them.

"Give me a two!" Luca said, heading toward the stairs to check the first floor.

"Two!" Chris patted him on the shoulder and followed him upstairs while the others continued chasing the first subject on the ground floor.

As Deacon spotted the man's shadow, he promptly neutralized the threat, bashing him on the floor and stealing the gun from his hands. Then he got up, leaving Street to secure the man.

"Give me a two," Hondo said, continuing the search in the house.

"Two, two!" Tan made him feel his presence, following him.

The house had four rooms on the ground floor, one leading to the garage, and three more rooms upstairs. It should not have a garret, but they had to worry about the access to the roof. For sure, they could not let the guy hide up there, possibly shooting from the heights when they get out.

The search proceeded fast and clean. It was just routine for the 20 David squad, almost like a day of training for them, but suddenly, a gunshot sounded at full volume in the air.
Hearing that, all the SWAT officers stopped and quickly turned toward the stairs where the sound came. The second subject was there with a smoking gun still in his hands and was now trying to run out from the building.

The SWAT members that were still on the ground floor had barely the time to acknowledge the man's presence that a second shot came, and they saw him falling and rolling to the feet of the front door.

Deacon looked up to found Chris pointing her gun down to the whining man. Then he saw Hondo rapidly passing him and securing their target. The subject's injuries were not life-threatening, Chris only hit him in the shoulder making him lose both his gun and his balance.

"Ground floor clear!" Tan yelled, getting back in the room.

"First floor clear!" Luca reached Chris on the stairs.

It all happened within a matter of seconds: the first shot, then the second, then the men falling; end of the story. But now Deacon's goose bumps told him it was not over.
They quickly cleared the house and secured both the subjects, so why did Deacon feel something was amiss?

He saw Chris reacting immediately, followed by Hondo, and Tan's and Luca's voices reached his ears loud and clear. All happened in a flash.
And Street? What was Street doing? Why didn't he made them feel his presence since before the shoot?
Deacon looked down while the other's attention was still on the second shooter, and horror filled his mind.

"Officer down!" He yelled, ducking to check on Street who was now lying on the floor on the top of the first subject they arrested.

Officer down. At the sound of those two simple words the SWAT members all froze.
Deacon's attention was all on his injured friend, but he could still feel the weight of the other's worried look on him.

"Oh my God, Street!" Chris jumped down the stairs and quickly reached for her friend while Tan took the arrested man away to give Deacon more space to act.

"Shot didn't penetrate," Deacon said relieved, carefully passing his hand under the vest on Street's sweated back.

Luca was watching the scene from up the first ramp of stairs. "How the hell did we miss the guy?" he asked, shocked.

"I don't know. I- " Chris babbled.

"Damn it! He's not breathing!" Deacon said, gently but rapidly freeing Street from his gears.
His hands were shaking, and his heart stopped. He could bet all his teammates were feeling the same way, watching powerlessly at their motionless friend.

"Come on, come on," Hondo said in a low voice, clearly trying to control the impulse to hit in the face the man who did that to one of his men.

Chris carefully helped Deacon turn their unresponsive teammate on his back.
Deac was ready to perform CPR on Street, but after a few endless seconds of complete silence, the young cop abruptly opened his eyes and gasped loudly.
The damp air finally penetrated in Street's lungs again while a clear grimace of pain compared on his face. He tried to move, regaining control of his body after being unconscious for those few but long minutes.

"Oh, thank God!" Chris sighed in relief, helping him sit up.

"Hold up, hold up," Deacon said. "Breathe slowly."

Street looked around, visibly disoriented by all the commotion around him.

"Can you take a deep breath for me?" Chris said with a hand on his shoulder and the other on his wrist, trying to sense his pulse.

Street tried, but suddenly started to cough uncontrollably.

"It's okay; it's okay. Try to relax; it will pass soon," Deacon said in a reassuring tone.

"I'm..." He paused, still trying to catch his breath. "I'm fine."

"You sure?" Hondo asked, staring at him.

Street slowly nodded.

"Alright, the house's clear, subjects under control, we're going out," Hondo said, making a sign to Tan and Chris to take the two arrested men out.
Getting out, the two cops glanced back at Street who was still breathing heavily, then they crossed their looks, both trying to wipe out the big scare their teammate just gave them.

"Ready to move?" Hondo turned to Street, who was now laying against the wall. "Take your time; we have no rush," he reassured him.

"Yeah. No... let's go," Street whispered, out of breath. "I'm-" he made a move to get up, but he blocked quite soon while a grimace of pain appeared on his face again, and a small cry escaped from his mouth.

"Here." Deacon offered him his hand and helped him get in a straight position.

"I'm calling a bus," Hondo said, watching the scene.

"No! Please, there's no need..." Street somehow found the strength to object vigorously.

"You think you can walk?" Deacon asked, still maintaining his grip on him.

"I'm good." Street forced himself to make a couple of steps toward the exit. "See? There's nothing to worry about."

They all knew he was helplessly lying as he had to bite his tongue while saying that. However, they let him do, always keeping an eye on him.

"Yeah, oaky. But you are still going to the hospital for a complete checkup," Hondo stated.

"I told you, I'm-" Street tried to oppose, but Deacon blocked him before he could say anything more.

"A bulletproof vest doesn't protect you from internal damage," the older cop said, getting out the house. "And I surely know that as I had to pass through this when I got shot in the chest last year," he added, helping Street get in the car.

"I'll drive him." Luca jumped in, taking Deacon's place, his eyes insistently scanning Street's body.

... ... ...

The warm air penetrated in Street's nostrils bringing with it a distinctive smell of disinfectant and leaving in his mouth a strange taste of medicines. However, sitting uncomfortably on the table, he focused on breathing deeply to ease the fatigue he was experiencing.

The stark room didn't give Street much distractions, and he couldn't help but stare warily at the doctor. As the gray-haired man placed the x-ray on the little chalkboard and enlightened it, the slight but insistent buzzing coming from the tool made Street even more impatient.

"Alright officer, everything seems good," the doctor said. "But I'll put you on limited duty for the next couple of weeks," he looked straight at his patient.

"Two weeks?" Street complained. "But you just said I'm okay!"

"I'll interpreter this as you will not take my advice and take a couple of days off, am I right?"

"Yeah, no chance there, doc..." Street shrugged.

"I still strongly recommend that."

"Noted," Street unsuccessfully tried to hide a grimace of pain while getting up.

"Look at you. I can't clear you for active duty if you suffer like that just for sitting or getting up."

"You got a point there..." Street whined while trying to reach his t-shirt.

"Here, put this on." The doctor gave him an ice pack. "First thing the bump has to swallow down. And you can take a few painkillers if you need, but try not to overdo, okay?" he looked his patient in the eyes and waited till he confirmed his orders, then left the room.

As soon as he was there alone, Street took in a deep breath and with some difficulty lifted his t-shirt over his head to put it on.

"Whoa," Luca said, entering the room at that precise moment and finding Street's contused back right in front of his eyes. "That's a real bruise, man!"

"Yeah?" Street gritted his teeth, trying again hard to hide the pain he felt at every little movement.
"I'm still up; it can't be that bad..."

"Hey, you can't underestimate this." Luca looked him straight.

"I'm not. I'm fine." Street said, serious. "I just meant that I'd seen worst." He managed to get dressed.

Luca let a little sigh escape from his mouth, probably realizing he was not exaggerating at all.

... ... ...

Back at the HQ, the whole team was eagerly waiting for Luca and Street to be back from the hospital. They tried to keep their mind busy by crushing the gym, but they constantly glanced at the door, hoping to see their teammates appear soon.

"Hey! How did it go?" Chris said as the two finally walked the corridor.

"I'm perfectly fine." Street hurried back without thinking.
He wasn't, but growing up as he did, he learned very well how to hide the pain and the signs of the hits his father gave him, and so, he was well trained to lie like that.

Hondo skeptically turned to Luca for confirmation.

"He will be. The doctor cleared him, but only for a desk job."

"You're sure you don't need a day off?" Hondo asked.

"The doctor said I could work, and I will." Street said straight.
"Don't worry! I'm fine; I promise," he insisted, feeling all his teammates' worried looks on him.

"Alright. See you tomorrow then, but take it easy, understood?" Hondo again turned to Luca to put him in charge of his friend's behavior.

"Yeah, I will..." Street said, waiting for his housemate to get his things and get ready to go home.

"Don't worry boss; I've got him." Luca nodded.

... ... ...

The night was already falling when Luca parked his car outside his home. The still warm air coming in from the open window caressed his face, blowing away all his negative thoughts.
Luca turned off the engine and unbuckled his safety belt. Then he waited for Street to do the same, but instead, his friend just stood there, looking at the void.

"Hey, you alright?" Luca asked, putting a hand on Street's shoulder.

"Uh? Yeah, yeah, sorry." Street sighed. "I, um, I was lost in thought."

"You? Were thinking? Wow, that bullet hit you hard, didn't it?" Luca chuckled, opening his car door.

Street let out a smile, shaking his head. But that little movement caused him to hold his breath, so he huffed and turned to the opposite way to hide his soreness from his friend.
"Let's go in now; would you?" The young cop bit the bullet and unleashed his seat belt.

"Here you go," Luca said, rushing to the other side of his car and opening the door for Street. "You sure you okay? Do you need any help?"

"Stop asking me that! I'm not a cripple! I can still get out of a car on my own."

"Hey, don't yell at me. I'm just trying to help here."

Street took a deep breath, trying not so successfully to hide his difficulties in making even the simplest gesture. "I'm- sorry. I had a pretty rough day, you know..."

"I was there, and it's been rough for me either." Luca clumsily took out his house key and got in.
"And I'm the one who should apologize." He stopped, turning to Street. "I don't know how I could miss the guy. I'm sorry."

"Don't be so stupid, man!" Street walked in behind him. "Not everything in the world is your responsibility. It could have happened to anyone."

"But it happened to me, and it caused all this happening to you."

"That's water under the bridge; I'll be good." Street gently tapped Luca's upper chest with his fist, looking him with his goofy smile.

"Of course you will," Luca smiled back.

"Now let me pass through, it's probably better if I follow the doctor's orders and put this on," Street drew Luca's attention on the ice pack he was holding in his hand.

"You know what? I'm gonna fill the icebox, just in case," Luca stepped aside, clearing the way to Street's bedroom. "Something tells me that you will need more ice in the next few days."

"Yeah, thanks." Street said, slowly directing toward his room.

"Oh, hey! I'm ordering pizza," Luca opened the fridge and took out a couple of beers. "How do you want yours?"

"Um, yeah... thanks, but I think I'll pass this time." Street stopped and looked back at Luca. "I- I'm gonna go straight to bed, you know...
"Maybe I'm not that good." He forced out a smile, trying not to make his friend even more concerned.

"Oh, okay," Luca tried to hide his discomfort, with not much success.
"Let me know if you need anything; I'll be right here."

"Thanks, man, appreciate that. I only need a night of good sleep."

As soon as he got in his room, Street closed the door behind him and immediately directed toward his bed. When he reached it, he sat there, not even able to change his clothes. Then he closed his eyes, trying to decide his next move.

Suddenly, the loud noise of the gunshot echoed in the darkness of his mind, and his eyes popped back open. He was sweating, and he had to concentrate to steady his breath.

Street lowered his head and stared at the icepack in his hands while his mind started to process what happened to him.
He began to realize that if it weren't for his vest, this time, he would most surely be dead. If the bullet hit him a handful centimeters lower, or upper, he would most surely be dead.
If it were not for his teammates, that quickly resolved the situation, guess what? He would most surely be dead.

What a hell of a day it was... he heavily abandoned his body on the mattress, but laying on his back was a big mistake.
"Agh..." he let his pain out as the weight of his body pressed on his big bruise.

Street instinctively turned to his side with a sudden movement.
Sudden movements were a big mistake too, and a giant wave of pain reached his brain, leaving him altogether out of strength.

This is not going to work, he thought, trying to take stock of the situation.
He took in a deep breath, and clenched the ice pack in his hands to activate its refrigerating powers. Then he adjusted his position in bed, this time moving nice and easy till he was face down on the soft sheets.

Finally, before being able to gain his deserved rest, Street pushed the ice in position, to cover his wound. The cool sensation quickly spread through his back muscles and gave him some relief, allowing him to relax a little.

At that point he could only lay there, trying to hold off his thoughts.

... ... ...

A few hours passed, and Street still couldn't fall properly asleep. The ice pack was now completely warmed up, but he, however, stood completely motionless in his bed as every little movement caused him to feel electricity flow down his spine.

Listening to the sounds of the night the chaotic neighborhood had to offer, he felt his body abandoned as if his mind was not connected to it.
He concentrated on those sounds. A dog was howling in the distance, but it was not Duke, a k9 don't howl to the full moon; the usual troubled kids were out in the small park, laughing and planning who knows what, suggesting him it was not that late in the night; and then there was the barely perceptible sound of the neighbor across the street yet again repainting his wall to wipe off the graffiti.

Street tried to slow his breath rate to keep the pain under control, but it arrived in waves and awakened him without warning, and every time it left him wondering when the next hit would come.

It was the middle of the night when Street fully awoke from his twilight sleep, feeling his whole body numb and his legs crawled.

Great, now I even have to go, he thought, trying to understand the mixed sensations his body was transmitting to him.

It took him a bunch of minutes only to move to the edge of the bed and lift in a sitting position.
Street slowly put his legs out, one after the other, with his bare feet touching the floor, or at least those were his intentions. He felt like he was fluctuating like his feet were dangling from the bed without really touching the floor.
He knew falling on the ground was not an option in his current condition, so he instinctively reached out for the light switch to make sure he wouldn't limp on something.

That was his third strike.

He let out a gasp as acute pain invaded his body once again. He held his breath till the wave passed, then recollected his strength to get up finally.
Why do I keep forgetting to move slow?

Once he acknowledged he wasn't stepping on anything, he could get on his feet.
Alright, let's go. He painfully got up, feeling unsure if his legs were going to sustain him.
Oh God, I'm not going to be able to work in the morning, he thought, trying to start moving.

"Okay," he muttered, moving his first step. Maybe a little trip to the bathroom is not such a bad idea. At least it will help awaken my legs.
Slowly advancing, he let a little growling slip through.
"Come on, Jim, one step at a time," he said to himself. And moving a few short steps, he kept carefully watching where he was putting his feet because he couldn't feel them touching the floor.

Suddenly, Street started feeling warm. "Oh, man! Are you kidding me now?" he muttered, looking down to see the yellow liquid descending on his legs, soaking his pants and forming a puddle at his bare feet.

Oh... I'd better hurry to clean up this mess. He concentrated on moving on, praying that Luca would not be still up to see him in those conditions.
Oh, no, no, no... he would make fun of me for life! he thought completely embarrassed, trying to not think about how that could happen without warning.

Street moved another step toward the door, slightly limping, but eventually succeeding in staying on his feet. Then he tried to push one step more, but this time, his legs definitively gave way under him, and he suddenly found himself on the ground, having the reflexes barely to put his hands in front of his face to minimize the impact on the floor.

Now he stopped feeling numb.
Street tried to get up, but his muscles didn't obey his will.

He actually stopped feeling anything.

Street was confused, not being able to find a good explanation for what was happening to him.
The doctor said I was fine. He said he found anything on the x-ray. How can all this happen to me now? He wanted to look around, but his movements were slowed down.

He was completely lost and overwhelmed by all kind of emotions. His mind was paralyzed right as his body was.
Street tried to take in deep breaths, but his body couldn't do even that. He knew he had to clear his mind, to make up a plan to get himself out of that situation, but now he couldn't think clearly.

Never move a victim with a spinal injury, he recalled from the basic first aid training every cop like him had to attend.
Victim... I am the victim here, he painfully acknowledged.

Okay, I'll stay still then... Street ordered himself. Not that I would be able to move anyway, he had to admit.

Now, laid on the cold floor, he hoped Luca was still up.
Street prayed his friend heard the thud of his fall and could come there to help him. But nothing. There was no sign of life through his door, and no one came.

"Luca!" he recalled all his strength and let his voice out as high as he could. "Luca! I need your help!" He tried again, but his tone was not high enough.
He was short of breath, and his voice came out so weak and soft that it was impossible for anyone outside that room to hear it.

"Please... Luca... please. I need you..." Street almost cried, exhausted, abandoned there with the cold slowly reaching his heart.

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Author's note: Thank you for reading this first step!

I've been putting so much energy in this project, and I've been writing this story for so long that, when episode 2.16 aired, I thought, oh, they just slid in the show the same idea I had? Well, the same premise for the injury at least, and even if it was for another character and with a completely different storyline, I guessed I have some feeling with the show writers... this is kind of funny, I think. Does it means I'm getting good in reading the writers' minds?

Well, anyway, I'm gonna go straight on my way on this. I think I'll be able to be back in a couple of weeks (sorry for the wait, although the show used to skip weeks too, right? ).