Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The gym was electric.

Every cheer, every squeak of sneakers on polished hardwood, every off-key chant Vic led from the sidelines echoed off the walls like thunder. Station 19’s annual charity basketball game — firefighters vs. first responders — was one of Maya’s favorite nights of the year. It was a competition. It was chaos. It was a community.

And tonight, she was killing it.

She darted down the court with the kind of sharp footwork that made her high school coach weep with pride from beyond the grave, caught the ball from Travis, and spun into an open lane. The crowd was loud, but Maya didn’t hear them — just the bounce of the ball, the beat of her heart, and the sound of her sneakers cutting against the floor.

She jumped for the shot — perfect form, perfect arc — and then—

White-hot pain shot through her right knee midair.

She landed off-balance, nearly crumpling. A sharp, sickening pop echoed in her own ears, but she forced her foot to stay planted and kept running. She didn’t stop. She didn’t grimace.

“Bishop with the bucket!” Vic shouted gleefully from the mic. “And definitely not limping like a baby deer!”

The crowd laughed.

Maya’s jaw locked. She pushed through.

Because Maya Bishop didn’t show weakness. Not in front of a crowd. Not with her team watching. Not when it was easier to smile and lie than admit she was in pain.

By the end of the night, the pain had settled into something sharp and constant. A quiet scream behind her kneecap.

“Did you tweak something?” Andy asked, handing her a water bottle as Maya sank onto the bleachers, subtly icing her leg beneath a hoodie.

“Just sore,” Maya said. “You know how it is.”

“You’ve been walking weird since halftime.”

Maya shrugged. “You’re imagining things.”

Andy raised an eyebrow. “You’re the worst liar I know.”

“And yet, somehow, you still believe me.”

“Because I want to believe you,” Andy muttered. “But I also know you. And I know that you’d rather crawl on broken glass than admit you’re hurt.”

Maya smiled tightly. “Crawling’s still cardio.”

The next few days were a blur of suppression.

Ice. Compression. Elevation. Denial.

She wrapped her knee tighter before every shift. Adjusted her gait. Took the stairs slower. Told herself it was nothing — just inflammation, or maybe a little strain. She’d had worse.

She didn’t tell anyone. Especially not Carina.

They weren’t living together — still holding onto their separate spaces — which gave Maya plenty of room to pretend everything was normal. She still met Carina for breakfast. Still kissed her goodnight. Still laughed at her dramatic rants about resident incompetence.

She just... hid the pain.

Until the night Carina came over early.

“Amore?”

Maya froze, the frozen peas balanced on her knee nearly sliding off her lap.

She scrambled to hide the bag behind a couch pillow just as Carina stepped into the living room, hair slightly messy from work, eyes soft with affection — until they landed on Maya’s brace-covered leg.

“What’s going on?”

Maya sat straighter. “What do you mean?”

Carina tilted her head. “You’re icing your knee.”

“No, I’m... chilling my leg.”

Carina blinked. “You’re chilling your leg?”

“It’s post-game soreness.”

“That game was eight days ago.”

“I landed weird.”

Carina stepped closer. “You’ve been limping.”

“I have not.”

“You’ve been flinching when you sit down.”

“I’m thirty now. It’s a rite of passage.”

Carina’s arms crossed. “Maya.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s clearly not fine.”

Maya’s voice snapped before she could stop it. “Why are you making this a thing?”

“Because you’re lying to me!” Carina’s voice cracked. “You keep doing this — pretending you’re invincible, like asking for help is some kind of betrayal. It’s exhausting, Maya.”

Maya stood too quickly. “You think I’m exhausting?”

“No,” Carina snapped. “I think you’re scared and proud and stubborn. And I love you, but I can’t keep guessing whether or not I’m allowed to care.”

“I didn’t ask you to come over,” Maya muttered.

Carina flinched like she’d been slapped.

Maya immediately regretted it — but her mouth was already closed, her arms crossed, her defenses up.

“Right,” Carina said after a beat, voice tight. “Message received.”

She turned to leave.

Maya went to follow — and her knee gave out with a sickening jolt.

She hit the floor hard, grabbing the arm of the couch to steady herself, gasping in pain.

“Maya!” Carina was at her side instantly, crouching beside her. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Maya whispered. “No, I’m not.”

The MRI confirmed it.

Torn meniscus. Displaced kneecap. Scar tissue buildup. Surgery required.

Maya sat in silence through most of the appointment, letting Carina ask the questions. The surgeon discussed timelines and rehab and risks, but Maya only heard: You’ll be off the line for six weeks. Minimum.

Carina offered her place for recovery. Said she’d be there. Said they’d figure it out.

Maya didn’t respond.

And the next day, she stopped answering Carina’s calls.

A week passed.

No texts. No replies. No sign Maya had scheduled the surgery. Carina drove by the station once, just to see if Maya’s car was there. It was.

So was the emotional brick wall Maya had built between them.

And finally — defeated, confused, and heartbroken — Carina knocked on Andy’s apartment door.

“She hasn’t talked to me in a week,” Carina said quietly, gripping a paper cup of gas station coffee with both hands. “She said she’d think about the surgery, and then she just... disappeared.”

Andy sighed, leaning against her kitchen counter. “She’s here, but she’s not here. She’s been working extra shifts. Pretending everything’s fine.”

Carina blinked quickly. “I don’t understand. One minute she lets me in, the next she bolts. What am I doing wrong?”

“You’re not doing anything wrong,” Andy said gently. “She just doesn’t know how to believe that someone’s choosing to stay. Especially not when she feels broken.”

“I want to be there for her.”

“I know. But you might have to kick down a few emotional doors first.”

Carina gave a watery smile. “I’m Italian. We invented dramatic entrances.”

Two days later, Carina was walking past the surgical board at Grey Sloan, flipping through a patient chart when she stopped in her tracks.

BISHOP, M. — OR 3 — 11:00 AM — Dr. Andelman 

She blinked. Read it again.

Maya’s name. Her surgery. Tomorrow.

And she hadn’t told her.

The pre-op room smelled like antiseptic and nerves. Maya sat on the edge of the bed, staring at a clipboard she’d been pretending to read for twenty minutes. Her stomach churned. Her chest felt tight. She hadn’t told anyone about the surgery. Not even Andy.

Because if she told them... she wouldn’t be able to lie about how scared she really was.

The door opened.

And there she was.

Carina.

Maya swallowed. “How—?”

“I saw your name on the OR board.”

Maya looked down. “Right.”

“You weren’t going to tell me?”

“I didn’t want to bother you.”

Carina’s voice rose. “Bother me? Maya, you’ve barely spoken to me in a week!”

“I didn’t know what to say.”

“You could’ve started with ‘I’m scared.’ Or ‘I don’t want to do this alone.’ Or even, ‘Hey, Carina, please still love me when I’m not perfect.’”

Maya’s eyes filled. “I didn’t want you to see me as weak.”

Carina stepped forward and gently took her face in her hands. “Maya Bishop. You run into burning buildings for a living. You protect people who don’t even know your name. You are not weak.”

“I don’t know how to let people stay,” Maya whispered.

“Then we’ll figure it out together.”

Chapter Text

Maya floated somewhere between sleep and something heavier.

The beeping near her head kept rhythm with the pounding behind her eyes. Her mouth was dry. Her leg felt… numb, almost. Wrapped. Bound tight. Like her body was reminding her that it wasn’t hers to command right now.

She blinked blearily.

“Hey,” came a soft voice. “There you are.”

Carina’s face swam into view, blurry at the edges but undeniably real. Her hand was wrapped gently around Maya’s. There was a disposable coffee cup on the tray behind her and dark circles beneath her eyes.

“Hi,” Maya whispered.

“You’re okay. Surgery went well.”

Maya exhaled shakily. “I feel like I got tackled by a moose.”

“Good. That means the anesthesia’s wearing off.”

“You sound way too happy about that.”

Carina smiled softly. “You’ve been out a while. I was starting to get worried.”

“I’m fine,” Maya mumbled, out of habit more than truth. Her throat was raw. Her whole body ached in a far-off, echo-y way.

Carina raised a brow. “You just had orthopedic surgery. You’re allowed to not be fine.”

Maya tried to sit up and immediately winced. “Okay, yeah. That’s gonna be a hard pass.”

Carina pressed the button to raise the bed gently. “Easy. Just let it come back in waves.”

Maya stayed quiet for a long moment, staring at the ceiling. “You stayed.”

“Of course I stayed.”

“I didn’t think you would.”

Carina frowned. “Why would you think that?”

Maya blinked slowly. “Because I’ve been a nightmare.”

“You’ve been scared.”

“I shut you out. Ignored you. Said awful things.”

“I know.” Carina’s voice didn’t waver. “And I’m still here.”

The next morning, Maya was discharged with a massive leg brace, a tote bag of supplies, a medication schedule, and a firm set of instructions that included: no climbing stairs alone, no removing the brace, and absolutely no stubborn behavior.

Maya ignored that last part immediately.

She groaned the entire cab ride home and tried — unsuccessfully — to convince Carina she could make it up to her apartment by herself.

“You try taking a flight of stairs on one leg with a cement block strapped to the other,” Maya grumbled, hopping awkwardly while Carina held her waist.

“I told you to let me carry your bag.”

“And I told you I’m not ninety.”

“You’re also not invincible.”

“Yet.”

Carina just rolled her eyes and nudged open Maya’s apartment door with her foot. “On the bed. Now.”

“Bossy.”

Carina turned. “Would you like me not to bring you your painkillers?”

“I’ll be good.”

The first few days were the worst.

The nerve pain flared every time the brace shifted. Maya couldn’t sleep more than three hours at a time. The helplessness chafed at her like sandpaper. She hated asking Carina for help getting dressed. Hated the look on her face every time she winced.

By the third day, Maya was irritable and quiet, barely talking.

Carina brought her tea. Maya didn’t touch it.

“You okay?”

“I’m tired.”

“Do you want to talk?”

“No.”

Carina nodded and left the cup on the bedside table.

Maya waited until she left the room before letting the tears fall.

She broke on day five.

It was the stairs that did it. She’d tried to get down on her own, balancing with the crutches, convinced she didn’t need help.

Her knee shifted. The pain was instant and hot and so sharp it made her gasp. She collapsed back onto the top step, crutches clattering down the stairs.

She didn’t cry out. Didn’t scream. Just sat there in silent fury at her own body.

Carina found her a minute later, frozen and shaking, hands gripping the railing like it was the only thing holding her together.

“I can’t even get down the fucking stairs,” Maya whispered.

Carina crouched in front of her, her voice soft but steady. “You’re not supposed to yet.”

“I’m useless.”

“You’re healing.”

“I can’t do anything. You have to take care of everything. Of me.”

“I want to.”

Maya’s eyes burned. “But I don’t deserve that.”

Carina didn’t flinch. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t know how to be the version of myself you’re still choosing to love.”

Silence.

Then Carina reached forward and pressed her palm flat to Maya’s chest. “I’m not in love with a version of you, Maya. I love you. The whole, complicated, proud, frustrating, fiercely good woman who can’t sit still and doesn’t trust easily and refuses to admit when she’s scared.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.”

Maya closed her eyes. “I don’t want to need anyone.”

“Needing someone doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.”

Later that night, Maya fell asleep with her head on Carina’s lap, one hand loosely curled in her sweatshirt. Carina watched over her like a hawk — and set alarms for every round of meds.

Four days later, the door burst open without warning.

“Nurse Vic reporting for duty!”

Maya startled so hard she nearly spilled the smoothie Carina had guilted her into drinking. “Jesus Christ, Vic!”

Andy followed behind, rolling her eyes. “I told her to knock.”

“Why would I knock?” Vic said. “We’ve already seen her in sports bras and turnout gear. What’s left?”

“My dignity?” Maya groaned.

Andy snorted. “That shipped sailed the minute you thought you could play on a busted knee.”

“Not this again.”

“Yes, this again,” Andy said, flopping down on the armrest beside her. “You’re an idiot.”

“She is,” Vic agreed, tossing a bag of snacks on the coffee table. “But a brave idiot. A noble idiot. A stubborn idiot with excellent eyebrows.”

“You’re both fired from the support team.”

Carina smiled from the kitchen. “They insisted on coming. I thought the distraction might help.”

Maya eyed the bag. “Are those peanut butter pretzels?”

“Also gummy bears, sour worms, and… mystery trail mix,” Vic announced.

Andy leaned in. “How’s it really going?”

Maya hesitated.

Then: “I hate it. I hate being waited on. I hate needing help to shower. I hate the brace. I hate that I still feel like I’m going to fall every time I stand.”

Andy nodded. “That’s fair.”

“I feel like a burden.”

“You’re not,” Carina said from the kitchen, voice firm.

“She’s not,” Andy echoed. “You’re just… having a rough chapter. Doesn’t mean the story’s bad.”

Vic blinked. “Wow. That was weirdly poetic. Are you okay?”

“I read,” Andy deadpanned.

Maya rolled her eyes, but her chest felt a little lighter.

Vic pulled out a deck of cards. “Now. Who wants to lose at trash poker?”

After they left, Maya leaned into Carina on the couch and whispered, “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not giving up on me.”

Carina turned and kissed her temple. “Never even crossed my mind.”