Origano and Basilico

Maya Bishop didn’t have time to focus on her home life. After long shifts at Station 19, all she cared about was taking a hot shower, grabbing a quick bite, and sinking into bed. Her apartment was functional, but not particularly homely. When she moved in, the only things she ever tried to care for were the herbs and plants outside her window – left by the previous owner. She had no idea what she was doing, though. The basil shrivelled. The oregano faded. So she stopped bothering. Now they were little more than a dried-out reminder of her failure to nurture anything outside the fire station. 

Maya didn’t pay much attention to her neighbours. Her job was demanding. She didn’t have the energy to forge new connections, preferring to prop up the bar at Joe’s with her teammates in her downtime, or go for a run. She wasn’t exactly the type to make small talk in the communal hallway, either.  But Andrew DeLuca had a way of making himself known.

Their first few interactions were brief, passing each other in the hallway, exchanging tired nods as they came and went at odd hours. One evening, when Maya was returning home with a takeout, Andrew appeared at the door of his apartment, shaking his head at the sight.

“Another night of firefighter cuisine?” he teased, leaning against the doorframe.

Maya scoffed. “I’d call it fine dining, actually.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess—greasy burgers, pizza or some other form of heart attack in a takeout bag?”

“Excuse you, but this is authentic Thai food,” Maya said, holding up the bag.

Andrew smirked. “Alright, I stand corrected. Still, if you ever want something home-cooked, I have skills.”

Maya chuckled. “Tempting, but I wouldn’t want to put you through the trauma of having to eat what I cook in return.”

They shared an easy laugh, and for the first time in a long time, Maya realized she didn’t mind talking to a neighbour.

***
A week later, Maya and Ben Warren had been tackling a fire downtown when they rushed a burn victim to Grey Sloan. Maya was focused on stabilizing the patient as they wheeled the gurney through the ER, but as soon as they entered the trauma bay, she nearly did a double take.

Andrew DeLuca was there, scrubbing in with his team.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Maya muttered, flashing a look at Ben.

Andrew glanced up, spotting her instantly. A wide grin broke across his face. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite firefighter.”

Maya smirked, still pressing gauze against the patient’s wound. “I hope I’m not your only firefighter, or I’m going to be offended.”

Ben raised an eyebrow at their banter but didn’t comment as Andrew jumped into action, assessing the patient and directing his team. For all his joking, Maya could see he was a skilled surgeon, and she had to admit, it was impressive watching him work.

When the patient was finally stabilized and wheeled into surgery, Andrew turned back to Maya. “You know, if we keep running into each other like this, people are going to think you’re following me.”

Maya scoffed. “I think you’ve got it the wrong way round, DeLuca. But I’ll admit, if your cooking skills are as good as your lifesaving skills, I might let you feed me after all.”

Andrew placed a hand over his chest dramatically. “Wow. A compliment from Maya Bishop? I must be doing something right.”

Maya rolled her eyes, unable to fight the grin tugging at her lips.

***

The first time Maya really let her guard down around Andrew was when they’d pulled up beside each other in the residential parking area of their apartment block. Maya was wired with nervous energy after a brutal shift, so when Andrew invited her in for a drink, she offered little resistance. They’d ended up collapsed on his couch, nursing their beers.

Maya’s phone buzzed, startling them both. She checked the display, giving Andrew an apologetic glance before firing off a reply, shoving the phone back into her pocket when she’d finished.

“Bishop, do you ever stop?” Andrew asked, watching her with mild amusement.

Maya smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Says the guy who’s just finished, what? a thirty-six hour shift?”

Andrew groaned, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. “Touché.”

For a while, they just sat there, too tired to speak. And Maya didn’t mind the silence with him. It was a comfortable silence. Easy. Neither of them feeling the need to fill the space with forced conversation.

Andrew surprised her. She expected him to be just like some of the other doctors at Grey Sloan—hyper-focused, distant from the people who came through their hospital doors. But he wasn’t. And as he talked about some of his cases, about his patients, it was clear that he cared. Too much, she suspected. And somehow, despite her best efforts, Maya found herself caring back.

Over the months that followed, an easy friendship developed. Their post-shift beers and quiet companionship became part of the rhythm of their lives. They’d watch the occasional football game together, have heated debates about the best place to get a burger in Seattle or make some progress with the 1000-piece jigsaw puzzle of a fire truck Maya bought him. Mostly, they just settled into the couch with a beer or a glass of Italian wine from Andrew’s collection.

Maya and Andrew’s friendship helped to deepen relationships between the firefighters and doctors, too. A connection that Ben’s move to Station 19 initiated and the Grey Sloan/Station 19 Darts League at Joe’s solidified.

‘Remember when I first moved into the apartment?’ Andrew chuckled into his drink. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot.”

Maya huffed a laugh, taking a sip. “You think? I almost decked you in the hallway!”

“Exactly.” He laughed. “Who knew you’d mistake your tall, dark and handsome neighbour for a burglar.”

“It was dark!” She protested, slapping his arm playfully. “Ever since the keypad broke on the entrance door, anyone can get in. Even Italians.”

“Hey! Waddaya mean!” He exclaimed, putting on a comically exaggerated Italian accent, gesticulating wildly with his hands. Maya snorted, shaking her head.

There was a beat of comfortable quiet before Andrew glanced at her again, this time more curious than teasing.

“You don’t let people in easily, do you?” he asked, tilting his head, his brown eyes soft with understanding.

Maya hesitated, unprepared for the sudden shift in tone. “What makes you say that?”

Andrew shrugged. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. Am I wrong?” he challenged.

Maya rolled her eyes, but she didn’t answer. And Andrew didn’t push. Which, somehow, made her feel safe. Safe enough to stay rather than make her excuses and leave, like she usually did when anyone got too close.

***
A few weeks later, Maya was into the second day of her 48-hour shift. The morning had been uneventful, and she’d been tasked with training the probies, going over ladder drills and hose deployment. Although Maya loved the adrenaline rush of a call, she could just as easily lose herself in the mundane, practical tasks, letting the rhythm of control and precision keep her grounded. 

She had just finished rolling the hose reels in the main garage when Vic jogged up beside her, nudging her shoulder.

“Hey Bishop, there’s a fire at a homeless encampment,” she said, breathless from rushing. “Ben and the others got called in, but Andy said we’re sitting this one out. There’s an incident downtown that might need another crew, so we need to be on standby.”

Maya exhaled sharply as she processed the news. A fire at a homeless encampment. Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to push the thought away. This wasn’t new. They happened all too often— an unattended candle, a faulty heater, or worse - arson.

She could picture it already: makeshift homes reduced to ashes, people who already had so little to lose, standing on the edge of the wreckage, watching it burn. She shook the thought away. There could be another call coming in soon. That was where her focus needed to be. And for a while, it worked. Maya stayed at the station, briefing the new recruits, preparing for the next emergency, running through equipment checks with Jack.

She made sure she kept herself busy. Too busy to think about the encampment fire. Too busy to let the nagging voice in her head whisper: What if Mason was there? What if something happened? So, when she finally made it home that night and stepped into a hot shower, she had convinced herself it was fine. 

And then her phone rang.

Maya had barely wrapped a towel around herself when she saw Andrew’s name flash across the screen. 

“DeLuca?” she answered, towelling off her hair, “I’m serious. I’m not changing my mind. Dick’s Drive-in beats Loretta’s, hands down.’ There was a long pause before Andrew spoke. Long enough for Maya’s stomach to swoop.

“Maya… I need you to come to Grey Sloan.” Something in his voice made her go still.
 “What is it?”

Another pause. Then, softly— “There was a fire. At the homeless encampment.”

Maya’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, I know. I was at the station when it was called in.”

Her fingers tightened around the towel, uneasiness settling in her chest.

Andrew hesitated before exhaling. “Maya, we… we need someone to ID a body.”

The world tilted. Maya’s fingers dug into the towel. The what-ifs and worst-case scenarios she’d managed to hold back during her shift, crashed into her consciousness like an unrelenting tide, stealing her breath.

“Mason.”

Andrew’s silence was answer enough. Her head spun, her knees going weak. “I’ll be there,” she said hoarsely, hanging up before he could say anything else.

The moment Maya stepped into Grey Sloan, her chest felt tight. She drifted through the corridors of the hospital on autopilot, numb to her surroundings. Andrew was waiting for her outside the morgue, looking tense. The second he saw her, his entire face softened.

“Maya,” he started, voice gentle.

She shook her head, her face a mask of steely determination. “Just—just take me to him.”

Andrew exhaled but nodded in understanding, leading her inside.

The moment she stepped into the room, the air felt too thick, too suffocating. She barely heard the medical examiner explaining the condition of the body because all she could do was stare at the shape beneath the sheet.

Maya swallowed hard. Andrew was standing close, watching her carefully.

She took a deep breath, then nodded stiffly. The examiner pulled back the sheet. 

Maya’s heart shuddered in her chest.

The face was badly burned. Unrecognizable.

Her breath stalled, and she felt Andrew’s steadying hand against her back. Balling her hands into fists to stop them shaking, she forced herself to look for scars, moles—anything familiar.  And then— She saw it. Or rather, she didn’t. The scar. Mason had a scar on his right wrist from when they were kids—but this man didn’t. 

Maya sagged in relief, her knees nearly giving out.

Andrew grabbed her elbow, steadying her.

“It’s not him,” she whispered, a flood of relief washing over her.

Andrew exhaled deeply, gripping her arm a little tighter.

“You’re sure?”

Maya let out a breathy, almost-laugh—relief mixed with guilt, grief, everything at once. It took a few seconds before she trusted herself to speak, her throat tight.

“I’m sure.”

***

Maya had always been good at compartmentalizing. It was how she had survived. So, after walking out of Grey Sloan that night, she decided to shove everything down. Close it off. Pretend it hadn’t happened. To put it all back into its carefully constructed box. And for Maya, part of moving on meant avoiding Andrew. It wasn’t personal. But she couldn’t handle the way he had looked at her at the hospital. Too soft, like he knew she wasn’t okay even when she was pretending to be. 

So, she made excuses. She skipped their usual casual chats in the hallway. Took longer shifts. Made sure she left the apartment early enough that she didn’t run into him. She missed him - of course she did. But she convinced herself it was for the best. Andrew had his own things to deal with. She didn’t need to dump her complicated mess of a family on him. And for a while, it worked. 

Until Andrew stopped letting her avoid him.

Maya had just got back from a late shift, bracing herself against exhaustion, when she turned the corner toward her apartment— startled to find Andrew waiting by her door. His arms were crossed, leaning against the wall, watching her. She almost turned around. But then Andrew tilted his head, giving her a knowing look.

“Running away?” he asked lightly.

Maya exhaled sharply, rolling her eyes. “I just got off a long shift.” Andrew nodded like he believed her but remained impassive. His gaze was too steady, too patient. Like he’d already figured her out. Maya sighed, shifting uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“You don’t have to check on me,” she muttered, reaching for her keys. Andrew didn’t move.

“I’m not checking on you,” he said easily. “I’m being an annoying neighbour. The kind that will keep bugging you until you finally submit and talk to me.

Maya’s jaw tightened. “Fine,” she huffed, pushing it open. “Come in, then.” Andrew arched an eyebrow, amused—but he followed her inside. Maya dumped her rucksack on the floor and headed straight for the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water from the refrigerator. Keeping her back to Andrew for a few extra seconds. When she turned around, he’d settled against the counter, watching her with that same annoying, gentle patience. She took a slow sip, then sighed.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

Andrew shrugged. “I don’t let friends go through things alone.” Maya’s stomach flipped at the word. Friends. She hadn’t expected him to call her that.

She swallowed, looking down at her sneakers, avoiding his gaze. “It wasn’t him.”

Andrew nodded. “I know.”

The silence stretched, and Maya could feel Andrew not pushing—but not leaving either. She sighed, gripping the water bottle tightly.

“I don’t talk about my brother,” she said. Andrew’s expression didn’t change. No surprise, no judgment. Just quiet understanding.

“I figured.”

Maya exhaled, shaking her head. “Not because I don’t care. But because…I don’t know what to say.” Andrew nodded again, like he was letting her take her time. Maya hesitated, biting her bottom lip. She wasn’t going to tell him everything. She wasn’t going to talk about her father, or Mason’s overdose, or all the ways she had tried to fix things and failed. But maybe she could say something.

She turned and walked towards the dining table, slumping wearily onto one of the chairs. Andrew followed, sitting across from her. Patient. Expectant.

“He’s out there somewhere,” she admitted after a while, voice lower now. “I don’t know where.” Andrew stayed quiet, giving her time.

“He didn’t want my help.” She let out a sharp exhale, shaking her head as her throat tightened. “I tried. More times than I can count.” 

She bit her lip. “He made it clear that he didn’t want me to fix him.” 

Andrew finally spoke. “Maybe he didn’t need you to fix him. Maybe he just needed you to love him.”

Maya clenched her jaw. She wanted to respond. She wanted to tell Andrew she loved Mason. But loving him hadn’t been enough. And she didn’t know how to say it without breaking. So, she just shook her head. 

Andrew didn’t press. Instead, he just offered her a small, soft smile. A smile that reassured Maya, that even without her saying it out loud, he already understood.

“Well,” he said, voice lighter now. “For the record, I think you’re a pretty great sister.”

Maya let out a sharp breath—half a laugh, half something else. She shook her head, glancing at him. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

Andrew smirked. “Maybe not. But I know you well enough to know that I’m right.”

Maya blinked, taken aback. She searched his face, looking for any signs of doubt or uncertainty but found none. Instead, there was something in the way Andrew looked at her—like he saw something in her that she couldn’t see in herself. And for the first time in days, she felt something loosen in her chest. 

After that, Maya stopped avoiding Andrew. She still didn’t talk about Mason, but she didn’t shut him out anymore. They went back to their hallway conversations, their teasing, their companiable silence as they crashed on his couch after work.

And when Andrew suggested meeting with their friends at Joe’s Bar again, she said yes. Because she realized something, as she sat across the table from him that night — 

Andrew wasn’t just someone who asked questions. 

He was someone who saw her. 

Someone who stayed.