𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒂 𝑩𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒑
Diane stepped out of the kitchen, the door clicking gently behind her—only to find Maya leaning casually against the hallway wall, arms crossed, one ankle resting over the other. She looked calm, like she hadn’t moved in a while. And like she wasn’t trying very hard to look like she hadn’t been eavesdropping.
Diane arched a brow, her tone light but pointed. “Captain Bishop, I didn’t think of you as the type to listen in on someone’s session.”
“I wasn’t listening,” Maya says, her voice low. “Not on purpose.”
Diane raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced but not judgmental. “Funny how that happens when the door’s thin and the room’s quiet.”
Maya exhales through her nose, a sharp breath that’s almost a laugh. “I just came to check if the rookie actually showed up.”
“She did,” Diane confirms.
Maya’s jaw ticks again. She looks away, like she’s trying to keep herself in check. “She’s good. She’s better than good. But I didn’t know.”
Diane nods. “Now you do.”
Maya hesitates, then asks, quietly, “Is she okay?”
“No,” Diane answers honestly. “But she will be. If you let her be more than just a replacement.”
“She’s been trying so hard to fit in,” Maya says, eyes flicking toward the hallway. “Pulling her weight. Taking every drill seriously. She doesn’t complain. She doesn’t push back. I thought she was just trying to prove herself…”
“She is,” Diane replies. “But she’s also surviving in a language she learned way too early.”
Maya looks down at that, jaw tight. She presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek like she wants to say something but thinks better of it.
After a moment, she asks, “Did I make it worse? Pushing her to talk to you?”
Diane shakes her head. “No. You gave her a door. She chose to walk through it. That’s not forcing—that’s leading.”
Maya lets that settle for a second. Then, quieter, “She said yes. When I asked if she’s part of the team. But it was shaky. Like she didn’t really believe it.”
“She doesn’t,” Diane confirms gently. “Not yet.”
Maya finally looks up and meets Diane’s gaze. “So what do I do?”
Diane gives her a small, knowing smile. “You already started. You showed her she’s seen. Now you keep showing her she belongs.”
Maya nods slowly, filing it away like another order she’ll make sure gets followed.
Then Diane reaches for the door. “Good night, Captain.”
“Night, Doc,” Maya says, her voice just a touch softer now. “Thanks.”
Diane smiled. “Anytime, Captain.”
The door closes behind Diane.
Maya stays there a beat longer, alone in the hallway. Thinking.
✦✦✦✦
Next Morning - Station 19’s Locker Room
The shift had barely started, but you were already sweating. You’d come in early to squeeze in a treadmill run before drills. The locker room was supposed to be empty—so when the door creaked open, you weren’t thinking much of it.
You peeled off your workout shirt, standing in your sports bra, and reached for your clean tee when the footsteps behind you stopped.
Too quiet.
You turned your head.
Maya stood there, still in her civvies, her expression unreadable—but her eyes were fixed on your left arm, where the ridged white scars told a story you’d buried deep.
For a second, neither of you said anything.
Then you moved. Too fast. Yanking the shirt over your head, heart pounding. Like it could erase what she saw.
“I didn’t mean to—” you started, but Maya held up a hand, gentle and restrained.
“I’m not going to ask about it,” she said. Calm. But not cold. “Not unless you want me to.”
You didn’t answer.
She gave a small nod, like she knew that would be it—for now.
“We’ve got drills in twenty. Hydrate.”
She left you with that, like it was any other day.
But your hands shook as you tied your boots.
✦✦✦✦
Apparatus Bay
You showed up on time. Precisely 20 minutes after Maya told you.
Boots laced. Hair tied back. Shirt sleeves tugged as far down as they’d go. You kept your head low as you moved toward the line, eyes focused on the gear, not the people.
Jack greeted you with a lazy grin and handed you a helmet. “Ready to get smoked by Bishop again?”
You forced a grin. “Wouldn’t be my first time.”
Jack snorted at your response and gave your shoulder a light bump with his elbow before turning to face Maya, who was already walking up, clipboard in hand.
"Alright," Maya announced, voice sharp and clear, “we’re running ladder drills with full gear. Time yourselves and push for personal bests. No half-assing it.”
The team groaned in unison—standard fare—but fell into line without complaint. You took your place near the back, keeping quiet, pulling your gloves on like armor.
Maya’s eyes swept the row. “Warren, Hughes, you’re up first.”
You leaned against the rig, helmet tucked under your arm, watching as Vic and Ben took off in sync. Jack stood next to you again, stretching his shoulders.
"You good?" he asked, low.
You glanced at him, surprised. “…Yeah.”
He looked like he wanted to press, but thought better of it. “Cool. You just seem… I don’t know. Tense. Which is wild, because we’re obviously about to do a chill, relaxing workout involving a 50-foot ladder.”
You huffed a dry laugh. “Right. Super chill.”
When it was your turn, you moved on instinct. You hit every rung, clipped in fast, moved like your life depended on it—which, you knew, someday, it would. Your lungs burned by the time your boots hit the ground again.
Maya glanced at her stopwatch. “Shaved twelve seconds off from last week.”
You blinked. “Seriously?”
She gave a curt nod, then moved down the line.
You didn’t know what felt heavier—the pride or the weight in your chest still left from the locker room.
After the incident at the locker room, it feels like the captain is watching you. Well, not watching, exactly. But noticing. Like she’d filed something away and now carried it, silently.
You hated how exposed you felt.
✦✦✦✦
Later – Kitchen
The team was refueling—lasagna from the night before, reheated and still decent. But you didn’t have much of an appetite. You told yourself it was just the drill. Just a long shift ahead.
The conversation at the table was light—Dean talking about a TikTok trend he didn’t understand, Travis snarking back like it was his second language. It should’ve made you smile.
Instead, you picked at your plate.
“You alright, rookie?” Vic asked from across the table.
You nodded and forced a swallow. “Yeah. Just tired.”
She shrugged like she’d expected that answer, but didn’t push.
“You need to eat more than that if you want to survive Maya’s next drill.”
It was Ben. Of course it was, he’s basically the dad of the station. He gave you a gentlelook from where he sat at. No judgment. Just concern.
You nodded and forked another bite. Forced it down. Didn’t taste it.
From the corner of your eye, you saw Maya enter. She paused at the doorway, scanned the room, then moved to grab coffee. Her movements were normal. Easy. But then, just before leaving again, her eyes flicked to you—and held.
Brief. Barely a second.
Then she turned and walked out.
But that second said everything.
✦✦✦✦
Later – Captain’s Office
Maya was reviewing shift reports when someone knocked on the open door.
You.
She didn’t react right away. Just set the pen down, leaning back slightly. “Something wrong?”
You hesitated in the doorway. Then shook your head. “No, I just… wanted to say thank you.”
“For drills?”
You shrugged. “For earlier. In the locker room.”
Maya’s gaze held yours, quiet. “I meant what I said. I’m not going to ask about it.”
“I know. I just… no one’s ever seen it before.”
A long beat passed. Then Maya said, low, almost more to herself than to you, “We don’t get to leave our past behind. But we get to decide how it shows up in our present.”
You nodded, almost absently.
“I want to earn my place here. Not just pretend I have it.”
Maya met your eyes. “Then keep showing up.”
You nodded once. “Yes, Captain.”
You turned to leave—before Maya called you and you paused in the doorway.
“And Y/L/N?”
You looked at her.
“If there’s ever a time when you do want to talk—” She paused, jaw tight, like vulnerability wasn’t her favorite language. “You can talk to me. Or Diane. Or anyone here.”
That offer sat in your chest like a quiet weight. Heavy, but warm.
You breathed that in, heavy and honest.
You swallowed. “Okay.”
“I mean it.”
“I know. Thank you, Cap.” You said, almost too softly.
✦✦✦✦
A Few Days Later – Apartment Fire
Maya was first on scene, headset clipped on, barking orders through the radio. “We’ve got flames coming out of the third-floor windows, reports of five inside. Team One—Montgomery and Miller—secure the ground floor and assist evac. Team Two—Gibson, Herrera, Y/L/N—you’re heading up. Third floor. I want a sweep and extraction. Ladders on the east side.”
You adjusted your mask with shaking hands, adrenaline already climbing your spine as you followed Gibson and Herrera to the ladder. The fire was alive. Breathing. Screaming.
You followed behind, keeping low as you climbed. Third floor. Backup entry through the balcony.
Inside, visibility was garbage. Smoke thick as night, only the orange glow of the fire lighting your path in flickers.
Gibson kicked in the scorched apartment door. “Search pattern,” he ordered. “Check bedrooms. Stay low. Watch your footing.”
You followed instructions, sweeping left while Herrera moved right.
A child's cry. Then silence.
You found him in the far bedroom, small body curled in a closet, face pressed against a stuffed rabbit. Eight, maybe nine. Barely breathing.
“Gibson!” you shouted. “Kid in here!”
“I got eyes on you,” he responded over the comms. “Bring him out. Herrera’s clearing the rest.”
You didn’t hesitate. You scooped the boy up, turned to head back, when—
CRACK.
The floor under your boot split wide.
You dropped half a foot before a hard jerk pulled you back up.
“Got you!” Gibson shouted. His grip on your harness that saved you—his face, soot-streaked, inches from yours as he grunted and heaved you back onto solid flooring.
“Don’t move,” he said quickly, “your ankle—”
“Not leaving him,” you snapped, voice cracking through the mask. The boy hadn’t stirred.
You limped. The pain was sharp, but you pushed it down, following Gibson and Herrera out. Herrera radioed down. “We’ve got the kid. We’re on our way!”
You descended the ladder, boots thudding against metal. You touched pavement with your ankle screaming, hands trembling around the boy’s small frame.
Then Ben was there, instantly checking for a pulse.
“Kid’s unresponsive—starting CPR!” he called. “Epi. Now.”
You dropped to your knees beside them. Someone tried to pull you back. You didn’t move.
Ben started compressions. Vic tore open the child’s shirt. The mother’s scream ripped through the air from behind the barricade.
“Why isn’t he waking up?” she sobbed.
Vic did compressions. Ben switched. Miller radioed in vitals. Nothing. The scene slowed down around you, noise falling away.
And then—
Ben’s expression fell.
“No pulse,” he said quietly.
The mother’s scream tore through the air.
And your world tilted.
Then Maya’s voice was in your ear again. “Y/L/N, you okay?”
You didn’t answer.
Because that boy wasn’t breathing.
He never started again.
✦✦✦✦
Later, in the back of the rig — en route to Station
Your ankle was wrapped tight, elevated on the bench seat across from you. Maya sat across from you, headset off now, quiet.
You hadn’t said a word since they called it on scene.
“He was gone before you even found him,” Maya finally said. Calm, but not cold. “They checked. He was already hypoxic.”
You stared at the floor of the rig, jaw locked. “Doesn’t matter.”
“Yes. It does.”
“I should’ve found him faster.”
“You were first in. You didn’t hesitate.”
“I hesitated when the floor broke.”
“You didn’t let go.” Maya’s voice was firm now, layered with heat and command. “You got him out. You did your job. And you did it well.”
You finally looked up, eyes burning behind your lashes. “He still died.”
Maya didn’t look away. “We don’t always win. We try. And when we don’t, we carry it. But you’re not carrying it alone.”
You didn’t answer.
Despite what Maya said, you still blamed yourself anyway.
✦✦✦✦
Night – Y/N’s Apartment
You sat on your bathroom floor with your back against the tub. Ice on your ankle. Sweat on your neck. A buzzing in your ears you couldn’t turn off.
The drawer was open.
Not the old blades—you had thrown them away. But you kept one of the old pencil sharpeners. The kind with the small, rusted edge buried inside.
It sits in your hand now.
Everything felt numb. Or maybe too sharp.
The boy. His eyes. The sound of the mother’s scream. Your foot slipping, your grip failing, Maya yanking you back just in time—if she hadn’t…
Your breath came short. Shallow.
You don’t deserve to be there. You failed.
Your fingers tightened around the sharpener.
Until—
A knock.
Three quick raps on your door.
You froze.
Then Maya’s voice, muffled through the wood “Rookie. You home?”
You swallowed hard.
Another pause.
“I just wanted to check on you and your ankle.” Her voice softened.
You stared at the door.
At the sharpener in your hand.
At the floor that suddenly felt like it was tilting.
You didn’t speak.
The knock again. Then Maya’s voice.
“I brought ice. Thought you might need some for the swelling.”
You didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
The sharpener felt heavier now. A quiet threat pressed against your fingers. Not screaming—but whispering things you didn’t want to hear.
A moment passed.
Then Maya said, gently, “I’m gonna leave it by the door, okay?”
You still didn’t answer.
But you heard the soft clink of the ice pack being set down.
And then—nothing.
Silence.
A long beat.
You pressed the sharpener harder into your palm. Your thumb brushing the metal edge, just enough to feel the risk of it.
Then—
“Actually,” her voice again, quieter, this time closer. “I don’t feel great just leaving. So, I’m just gonna stay here, just take your time.”
She waited.
Then you forced yourself to stand, the sharpener still clenched in your palm as you limped to the door. You reached for the knob, pausing for one breath—two—and opened it.
Maya stood there, in joggers and a hoodie, hair tied back, her expression unreadable at first. But when she saw you—your puffy eyes, your sweat-damp neck, your limp—her whole face shifted. No judgment. Just concern.
“Hey,” she said, gently. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.”
You stepped back to let her in.
Maya hesitated only a second before stepping inside. “Nice place,” she said casually, but her eyes scanned the room like a captain entering a scene—reading details you hadn’t even meant to show.
You limped to the kitchen counter and set the ice down. Maya didn’t mention your ankle. Or your face. Or the way your free hand was still hidden.
Then, “Do you want to sit?”
You nodded, and the two of you sank onto the couch in silence. She didn’t press. Didn’t ask. Just waited.
“I’m sorry,” you said finally. “I know I’m supposed to be stronger.”
“You are,” Maya said instantly. “Don’t confuse pain with weakness.”
Your lip trembled. “He was just a kid.”
“I know.”
“I can’t stop seeing him.”
“I know.”
You turned away, catching your breath, your arm coming up to swipe at your face—forgetting for one second what was in your hand.
The sharpener clattered to the floor.
Maya stilled.
You froze.
Neither of you moved for a long second. Just the sound of your breath, ragged and embarrassed and full of guilt.
“Is that what you’ve been holding onto?” Her voice didn’t waver. But it softened into something you couldn’t run from.
You nodded, barely.
Maya bent down, picked it up gently, and set it on the taable. She didn’t ask why you still had it. She didn’t scold you. She just looked at you—looked through you.
“I’m not here as your captain right now,” she said. “I’m here because I care.”
Your shoulders crumpled under the weight of that.
“I didn’t… I didn’t hurt myself,” you murmured eventually. “But I thought about it.”
Maya let that sit in the air for a long moment. Her voice, when it came, was quiet. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I didn’t think I’d still feel like this after all this time. I thought I was better.” You wiped at your face with the back of your wrist. “I haven’t… I haven’t done that in years.”
“I’m glad you didn’t tonight.”
Silence.
You swallowed hard. “I’m trying my best. With the kid.”
“I know.”
“I just keep seeing his face.”
Maya leaned back, eyes on the ceiling for a moment before she whispered, “I see them too. Every single one.”
You turned your head. “How do you live with it?”
She exhaled slowly. “Some days… not well. Some days I run until my legs go numb. Some days I go sit with Diane. Some days I yell in my car with the windows up. But I stay. And I keep showing up. Because this job… it takes from us. But it also gives us something. Family. Purpose. And sometimes, people who knock on your door when you’re not okay.”
That last part came softer. Warmer.
Your eyes welled again.
“I want to talk to Diane again,” you said, voice barely audible.
“I already put in a request,” Maya said. “She’ll be in on Thursday.”
You looked at her, surprised.
She shrugged. “Didn’t want to leave it up to chance.”
“You always like this with your team?”
Maya gave the faintest smirk. “No,” she said honestly. “I’m a hardass.”
You let out a quiet laugh. It broke the tension, just a little.
“But,” she added, more seriously now, “I see the people I lead. I choose to. That’s the difference.”
You nodded slowly, eyes lowering again. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” she said without hesitation. “But you’re also brave.”
You looked at her again, skeptical. “I don’t feel brave.”
Maya’s eyes didn’t flinch. “Bravery doesn’t mean you don’t break. It just means you come back from it. You asked for help. That’s the bravest thing I’ve seen all week.”
The silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of something unsaid. Trust, maybe. Or understanding.
Then she asked gently, “Do you want me to stay a while? Or should I give you space?”
You hesitated. Then answered quietly, “Would you stay?”
Maya nodded once. “Yeah. Of course.”
She stood and moved around the apartment like it was second nature—grabbing a blanket, flicking off the harsh overhead light, settling onto the couch beside you. Not touching. Just… there.
You leaned your head back and closed your eyes. Let the quiet hum of the city outside fill the air. For the first time since the fire, your chest didn’t feel quite so tight.
Minutes passed like that. Maybe more.
Then Maya said, just above a whisper, “Thursday’s not far.”
You nodded without opening your eyes. “I know.”
“But if you need someone before then…”
“I know,” you echoed.
And you meant it.