Chapter Text
“Street?”
Was that actually Jim Street or was he finally losing what little mind he had left? Oh, it was him. The moment the younger man recognized his voice he stopped in his tracks and started back peddling. The panicked look on his suddenly ashen face was not the outcome he had foreseen when he first realized the kid was really strolling into a therapist’s office. His therapist’s office, at that. And apparently Jim Street’s therapist. He had heard from Hondo and Deacon that the boy was taking steps toward the healing he so desperately needed. He knew Dr. Powell was one of the best in her field and came highly recommended. He should have guessed Deacon and Hondo would make sure Street had the best of anything he needed.
“Street?”
The damn kid backed himself into a literal corner, where two outside walls met one another. like he was trying to disappear into them. He had never meant to startle to the younger man so much. Finally reaching the kid, Robert Hicks found himself face to face with the beginnings of a panic attack. He’d seen his own son have a few of these and they were scary.
“Okay, kid, you’re safe. Nothing’s wrong. Two work colleagues ran into each other at a doctor’s office. That happens sometimes.”
Robert noticed the kid’s breathing was slowing, so that was a plus. Maybe this crisis could be averted. Finally, able to sit next to his young coworker, he noticed the shaking. Street was wringing his trembling hands. Hicks recalled seeing his boy do the very same thing. The last time JP had started to panic, Hicks had taken his cold hands into his own and slowly talked him down. He doubted Street would appreciate that though. He settled for making sure their knees and shoulders were ever so slightly touching. He wanted the younger man to know he was there, but he didn’t want to crowd him.
“You don’t have to stay. I’m alright. Unless you are waiting for me to calm down to fire me. Oh God! Is that what’s happening?”
Hicks could hear the panic again in the younger man’s voice and he hated it. He hated that his presence set off an anxiety attack in the first place. He absolutely despised the fact that Jim Street saw his efforts at recovery, at healing, as something that required all that stress. Hadn’t Hondo assured the damn kid his job was safe? And if so, what else about his person bothered the younger man so much?
“You’re not getting fired, kid. You haven’t done anything wrong…lately.”
That actually got a watery chuckle out of the boy. Jim Street’s penchant for trouble was famous and quite widely known at SWAT HQ. The younger man found himself in hot water so often that Hondo and the team had developed protocols for many different scenarios. Jim Street had so many people who cared about him.
“So, I’m just leaving an appointment with my therapist. I suspect you’re just arriving for another one. All that means is that we have decided to seek help dealing with our issues. My wife died and I realized I let my own hang ups taint my relationship with my children. I decided to do something about that.”
Hicks let the kid digest that bit of information. Maybe knowing someone else needed a little help to get through would help him understand that this wasn’t a bad thing. Robert knew Deacon and Hondo and even Luca worried constantly about Street’s wellbeing. The kid didn’t realize it was okay to make himself a priority.
Robert watched as some color started to come back into Street’s face. The kid still had his hands clinched, though. Hicks decided he’d take the small victories. He was learning to appreciate those more and more.
“Your phone is ringing. It’s Dr. Powell. She’s probably wondering if everything is alright. Is it okay if I answer it?”
The tiniest of affirmative nods had Robert Hicks answering the phone and attempting to explain the situation to their therapist. And didn’t that sentence sound all kinds of wonky? Their therapist. At least she would know what to do about Street. Maybe she had some magic words to make the situation better. Too bad they couldn’t magically go back in time and save the kid from all hurt and fear. After seeing the file on the younger man, Hicks had done the math with the dates and can’t for the life of himself figure out how the kid’s parents never crossed his desk. Both had criminal records. Both had been parts of other investigations. They sure as hell crossed someone’s desk though. God, someone should have done something.
“Dr. Powell is on her way down.”
Hicks hoped that bit of positive news would ease those clinched hands just a little, but instead it just made the kid start wringing them again, rubbing them on his jeans trying to quell the sweaty palms. Cold hands and sweaty palms; all parts of the deal with anxiety attacks. Robert Hicks could no longer watch the panic and do nothing. Slowly reaching over, he captured the still flailing hands in his own and held them together in an effort to calm the storm still fighting inside the kid.
“Just breath with me, kid. In and out, slowly but surely. You’re okay.”
Jim Street was visibly calming. Hicks kept his hands around those still trembling ones, gently massaging a rhythm until Dr. Powell showed up. His reluctance to leave the situation was odd or at least he thought so. He just really needed to make sure the younger man was alright. Agreeing to drive him home was the only thing to do. Dr. Powell seemed to agree. As soon as she had calmed Jim enough to have a coherent conversation, she easily got him to agree. Hell, Robert had already contacted Deacon and had someone coming for the kid’s bike. Deacon had given him instructions to drop Street at Hondo’s. Hondo’s father was there, and the boy would be more than safe while he rode out the aftereffects of the anxiety attack.
With the kid buckled in safely, Robert Hicks headed to Hondo’s place. The almost silent apology threatened to break him.
“What?”
“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with me like this. No one should. I’m so sorry, sir.”
Robert Hicks had never in his life been more thankful for L.A. traffic. He knew they had a few minutes to sort some things out.
“Street? Jim, look at me, son.”
Robert didn’t know what compelled the kid to follow his order, but those scared brown eyes were finally meeting his own concerned blue ones.
“There’s no need for you to apologize. You haven’t done anything wrong. You are safe with me, kid.”
The flash in those sad eyes told Hicks he’d hit the nail on the head. Jim Street needed to feel safe. Dialing his phone, Robert hit the speaker icon and held it up for Street to hear. When the boy heard Deacon’s steady voice, he visibly relaxed. Deacon stayed on the phone with him until they pulled up at Hondo’s with the promise to be there soon.
Robert walked his young coworker to the front door. Daniel Harrelson Sr. was waiting with the door already open. He clapped one of his big hands on one of Street’s tension-filled shoulders and left it there until the kid walked guiltily inside.
“He’s in good hands.”
Hicks smiled a little. He didn’t doubt that statement for a second. Hondo and Deacon would never leave Street with anyone even remotely unsafe.
“This is a pretty common occurrence, then?”
“Depends on what you consider common.”
Robert Hicks had his answer anyway. It was in the way the old man gently squeezed Street’s shoulder when they had arrived. It was the way Street just disappeared into the house like he’d done it countless times before.
“If he needs anything before Deacon gets here, just call me. Street has the number.”
“Thank you. For taking the time. For proving him wrong. One of his fears was you finding out about the anxiety attacks and the therapy and losing his job. Thank you for being so patient with him when he was panicking.”
The gratitude in Daniel Harrelson Sr.’s eyes told Robert Hicks that not everyone had been so accommodating with the kid. It made him wonder how many times he hadn’t been patient enough with his own children. He remembered his own work, weary parents being snappy often and wondered if they ever felt guilty for any of it. He certainly didn’t blame them. It was the time. Money had been tight much of the time and the only way to make more money was to work more hours. Working more left them even more exhausted and short tempered. It was a vicious cycle. One he had participated in for far too long.
“Please help him understand that what happened today isn’t a bad thing. I’m really glad he trusted me enough to let me see it.”
Daniel nodded his agreement and closed the front door, locking it behind him. He had started some as soon as he knew the boy was on his way over. The warm liquid would help soothe any frayed nerves and keep him hydrated while his body continued to reorient itself after the anxiety attack. Wrapping the kid in the quilt passed down from his own mother, Daniel poured the tea and pulled the curtains. The lights were low and the tv was off, so as not to add any unnecessary stimuli to the boy’s environment. Jim Street would be fine with a little time and a lot of therapy. Some of the things that had been done and said to him were horrific, but he had people in his life now who wanted to help him process it, people who cared about how he was coping. He was learning to let those people in and let them help him. Baby steps, Hondo liked to say.