Chapter Text
Morning arrived like a whisper, slipping through the bedroom curtains in streaks of gold. The air was thick with sleep and the fading scent of sex—skin and heat and last night’s need still clinging to the sheets. Tangled legs, bare skin, and the steady, slow rhythm of breath created a cocoon around them. Maya lay on her back, the sheet barely covering her hips, one arm flung over Carina’s waist as if even in sleep, she needed to hold her close.
Carina stirred first, shifting with a languid stretch, her body sliding deliciously against her wife’s. She blinked up at Maya with bedroom eyes, her lips curving into a lazy, wicked smile.
“You’re not going anywhere,” she murmured, her voice still thick with sleep and desire, her accent wrapping around every word.
Maya chuckled low in her throat, eyes still closed. “I have to be at the station in an hour.”
Carina didn’t respond. Not with words. She kissed her instead—slow and greedy, like she’d been waiting all night for this exact moment. Her hand slid up the curve of Maya’s stomach.
“You could call in,” Carina whispered against her lips. “Tell them your wife needs you.”
Maya opened her eyes then, heat flashing in them as Carina rolled on top of her. “You’re dangerous in the morning.”
Carina straddled her, grinding down just enough to make Maya hiss. “Only because you let me be.”
Maya’s hands found her hips, anchoring her there as Carina leaned down to kiss her again—deep, slow, tongues sliding together with growing urgency. She rocked against her, moaning when Maya's fingers dug into her thighs.
Sheets slipped down, skin flushed, and breaths grew shorter. There was no rush—just heat and reverence. Maya's hands wandered, mouth following, learning Carina all over again like she hadn’t spent years doing exactly this. Carina gasped as Maya pulled her down again, hips rising in tandem. A lazy, luxurious rhythm overtook them, more sighs than moans, more worship than frenzy.
****
After, Carina collapsed onto Maya’s chest, breathless and flushed.
“You’re still not allowed to leave,” she murmured against damp skin.
Maya laughed, her breath catching as Carina pressed open-mouthed kisses to her collarbone. “I have to. I promised Andy.”
Carina groaned dramatically. “Why do you have to be good at your job? It’s infuriating.”
Maya smiled, brushing back a strand of Carina’s hair. “And you’re clingy in the morning. It’s adorable.”
Carina kissed her again—quick, then slow, then just long enough to say everything she didn’t want to say out loud.
“Promise me you’ll come home.”
“I always do.”
Maya got dressed reluctantly, their final kiss at the door.
****
Carina was home.
She was dressed in Maya’s hoodie and leggings, the ones that smelled like her—cedar shampoo and vanilla. The apartment buzzed with the silence that only came after something beautiful. Sunlight lit the countertop where two mugs sat—one cooling, untouched. The other half-drunk, abandoned.
She was already planning dinner. Already thinking about a second round in bed after wine and pasta and maybe a rerun of their favorite show.
She was smiling when the phone rang.
Unknown number.
She frowned, thumb hovering over the screen. Something cold slid down her spine.
She answered.
“Hello?”
There was a pause.
Then a man’s voice, clipped and unfamiliar: “Is this Carina DeLuca-Bishop?”
The world shifted.
“…Yes?”
Another pause. Too long. Far too long.
“I’m calling from Grey Sloan Memorial. Your wife, Maya Bishop, has been in a car accident.”
Carina’s heart stopped. The floor dropped out from beneath her.
“No—she… She just left. She was just here.”
“She was found unconscious at the scene. She’s being stabilized now.”
Carina’s mind blanked. Stabilized. That meant—what? Broken ribs? Bleeding? Maya with a neck brace and bruised lungs?
Her voice cracked. “Is she alive?”
There was a pause.
Then: “It’s important that you come in right away.”
That was not an answer.
Carina’s knees buckled. She grabbed the edge of the counter, the phone still pressed to her ear.
She couldn’t breathe.
“No. No, no, no—she was fine. She was just here!”
But the line had gone quiet.
She was already moving. Grabbing her keys, her wallet, and her shoes. She didn’t remember locking the door or finding her car or how she started the engine with trembling hands.
****
The drive was a blur.
Red lights blurred past. Horns blared. Her heart beat like a siren in her chest.
Maya. Maya. Maya.
Her voice. Her laughter. That last kiss.
Carina sobbed out loud. “Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you dare.”
Had she told Maya she loved her when she walked out the door?
Her hands were shaking so badly she barely made the yellow light. Her stomach roiled. Her head pounded. She couldn’t think past the last thing Maya said to her:
“I always come home.”
What if that had been a lie?
What if that had been the last time?
Her tires squealed into the parking garage. She slammed the car into park and bolted across the pavement, her pulse pounding louder than her footsteps. She didn’t feel the ache in her lungs, the burn in her throat, or the sting of wind in her eyes.
She only felt the scream rising in her chest, the one she refused to let out until she saw Maya with her own eyes.
The sliding doors of Grey Sloan hissed open, and chaos spilled into her chest.
Machines beeped. Voices shouted. A gurney whipped past. The sharp scent of antiseptic hit her like a slap.
A nurse looked up from the check-in desk. Recognition hit instantly—pity blooming behind her eyes like a bruise.
“Dr. DeLuca-Bishop?”
Carina was already crossing the room, frantic and breathless. “Where is she? Where’s my wife?!”
“She’s in Trauma Bay Two. They’re still working on her.”
“Working on her?” Carina’s voice cracked, rising with desperation. “What happened? How bad is it? Just tell me something—please.”
The nurse faltered, her expression tight.
“You need to speak with Dr. Altman. She’s in with her now.”
Carina’s mouth went dry. A horrible ringing filled her ears.
“Wait—just—tell me what I’m walking into. Please. Is she—is she even—”
The trauma doors banged open.
Teddy Altman stepped into the hallway.
There was blood on her gloves.
Her scrub top was soaked in it.
And her face—God, her face was unreadable.
Carina's knees nearly gave out. She staggered forward, every muscle trembling with the need to run and the fear of what she might run into.
“Teddy,” she choked, her voice cracking around the sharp edge of a sob. “Please.”
Teddy didn’t move for a long, terrible second.
Then she pulled her mask down.
And she said only one word.
“Carina.”
Not yes.
Not no.
Just her name.
And behind her—behind that swinging door—was either the love of Carina’s life… or the end of her world.