Chapter Text
Trustfall
Picture a place where it all doesn't hurt
Where everything's safe, and it doesn't get worse
Maya POV
‘How could you do this to me???? CAARRRRIIINNNAAA....CARRRRIIINNNAAAA’
The sound of my own screams still haunt me to my core every second of every day. It’s been nearly ten weeks since Carina, my beautiful, sexy Italian wife, had me placed on a 5150. Nearly ten weeks since I heard her voice. Nearly ten weeks have passed since I have seen those beautiful brown hazelnut eyes.
‘This isn’t support. This isn’t love. When your brother died, you could barely get off the freaking kitchen floor. You know what I did? I gave you space when you needed it. I let you figure out your crap on your own. I didn’t call psych and have you committed. Okay? That is love. That is support. So no, this is not helping me. I can’t believe you would do this to me. Oh, the lengths you’ll go to get your way. 'If you....If you walk out that door we're done.. Do you hear me?...We're done….'
I know that the last words that had come out of my mouth to my wife were venom. Words that I regretted the instant I spat them out but I was scared. I was terrified and I was desperate. It was the last tool in my arsenal as I well and truly hit rock bottom.
I lose you either way Bella, I’d rather lose you and have you alive.’
Those were the last words Carina said to me before she turned and walked away. But how is this being alive? How is this living? I need my wife like my battered body needs oxygen and without her here, I feel like I am suffocating. Therapy is helping but the day I stepped foot in this apartment alone without Carina by my side, I knew I would never be me again. The loneliness, the silence, the emptiness is exhausting. Tortuous even. I’m exhausted both physically and mentally. I haven't run since that day on the treadmill. I’ve been cleared by Dr Altman to start light runs but it feels like too much effort, particularly because every bit of me already aches for the person who is not here. I didn't believe it was possible to physically feel pain from missing someone but Diane assured me you can. My heart beats a little faster, there’s a gnawing in my chest. There’s discomfort in my gut. My limbs hurt from the hours upon hours spent curled up in the same position wishing for and wanting my wife. Sometimes I feel like I can almost taste her. I can taste her voice, I can taste her love, the mutual need. I taste her companionship and it fucking hurts because it screams out my desperate desire for someone who isn’t here. I know it's the need talking and I know the need is like a scared child screaming its old, unfulfilled wanting. The sensations that have invaded my soul are urgent and desperate and I’m terrified of the day the taste fades away and for now, I'm existing minute by minute, day by day just for the glimmer of hope I have rooted deep within me that maybe one day, Carina will forgive.
My home has become my haven. Where at one time I would have felt like it’s hostage being here, now it keeps me safe. It separates me from the stares and the whispers and the constant pain of being so alone in this world. I would rather be confined between the walls here than be seen partnerless, companionless and desolate to everyone out there but it’s hell being in here all the same. The place that was once filled with soft Italian music and mouth watering aromas that would gently snake through the open living space from my wife's cooking. A place where we would dance, and talk and make love for hours. Now it was an empty, cold shell that smelt of disinfectant and stale food. There was nothing left of my wife here anymore. She had taken everything away before I had even left the hospital. All that remained was a bottle of her favourite shampoo that I would smell multiple times a day in those first few weeks. I found comfort in that. It would transport me back to a happy time. Times where I felt worthy. Times where I felt loved. Times that I felt like the luckiest person in the world. That’s not what exists here now. This isn't my home, it's just a cold, open box now that the life was sucked out of the second Carina shut the front door with her belongings in hand. The joy of the past is long gone. In the moments I really do wonder if I really am crazy, I wonder if the walls miss the sounds. The sounds of sex, the sounds of laughter, crying or anger. I wonder if they miss conversation. When I’m here on my own I'm essentially muted. I don’t talk to myself or question things out loud, all of that comes silently in my head unless I'm in therapy.
A few days after leaving Grey Sloan, Diane Lewis had arrived at my door. I knew I would have to be evaluated before being able to return to work, I was expecting it. As stubborn as I knew I was, Diane was somewhat worse. She didn't fall for my act. She didn't treat me like the broken, fragile firefighter others had. She was tough, hard and would put me right back in my place as and when needed. Try as I might, I couldn't offend her with vicious, sarcastic words. I would try but Diane was on par. What I wasn't expecting was how helpful I had found that first session with Diane, not that I would ever admit it. When I admitted to her that I didn’t feel ready to go back to work, she didn’t question me.
For the first 8 weeks, Diane and I had been meeting regularly. Sometimes twice a week, sometimes three, here at the apartment or at the park or just at a nearby coffee shop (one I knew my wife would never visit). Diane never forced me to talk but would gently encourage me to open myself up a little bit more each time and I soon found myself comfortable enough to do just that. Sometimes the conversations were hard, sometimes more light-hearted. She accepted my admittance with understanding and praised me for putting myself first and for openly speaking about my own needs and for someone in the position I find myself in, having someone recognise a positive development, no matter how small, felt rewarding. I had slowly started to develop the tools to navigate myself through certain emotions, like meditation, breathing exercises, art. I wasn't an artist in any sense of the word. I would never be Mason but I found it oddly relaxing to lose myself in a colouring or a doodle. My hard scribbles on a piece of paper worked well at unloading the pressure I felt throughout my body that running would usually ease. These methods are particularly helpful right now.
In a few weeks time, Diane will be heading out of town for a month-long work trip resulting in us collectively making the decision to temporarily end my weekly sessions with her. We discussed the implications thoroughly and at length, she advised me on other therapists that could take her place but I know me and I know I would never be as comfortable with anyone else the way I am with Diane, the mere thought of it is enough to fill me with terror. The choice was mine and mine alone to make and honestly, the fact she put the final decision in my hands meant a lot. It’s been hard not to feel that I have been stripped of my rights in making my own decisions of late and the simple act of making the choice on what I thought was best for me helped ease the feeling of self worthlessness I have been feeling since the night I was rushed to Grey Sloan.
I did take the time to think about it. I made a list of the pros and cons but ultimately the sliver of self belief Diane’s gesture provided within me also added a boost to my self confidence resulting in me declining the offer in favour of attempting to navigate my mental health alone with what she has already given me.
I know I’m far from ready to do away with Diane altogether but I am comfortable taking the next few weeks to assess my progress. She assured me she will always be available to speak should I need via zoom but I already feel mentally stronger but knowing I have the safety net of calling Diane if needed has been essential now that I am not opposed to picking up the phone and reaching out to her.
It’s been a fortnight since I last had a face to face session but we have maintained communication via texts and I feel good. My head isn't clouded in the depth of darkness I had become accustomed to for the majority of this year. My head feels clear and focused and for the first time in a long time, free of personal negativity. That aside, what I am struggling to overcome is the fact I am completely estranged from not only Carina but also my team. On that front I’m pissed off, angry and completely alone, something I willingly admit Diane is clueless about.
Flashback
‘Maya, as much as I can see and feel the progress you have made, I am slightly concerned with the idea of you not having a regular outlet. I'm not saying you are not capable, far from it actually, but there will be days when certain emotions will get too much for you or you may become overwhelmed, just like they do for everyone. I know you have my number but what if I'm momentarily unavailable? Are you confident you can navigate those without adding more stress to yourself?’ Diane asks. I can see there is no malice or negativity in her words, just a genuine concern for my well being.
I try to force away the guilt that I know will riddle me after I reply but the truth is I know that Diane would fight me more on moving my care temporarily to a new therapist if I fully expose my reality to her.
‘I have to try right? It’s better to try and falter slightly than to not believe in myself that I can. Besides I’ll…I’ll have Andy and the guys at the station but mostly Andy. I’m in regular contact with her and she spends time here when she’s off shift.’ I somehow manage to force out.
A small smirk graces her face as she looks at me…proudly..maybe. It’s been so long since I have done anything to make anyone proud I'm not convinced that's what it is.
‘When did you start getting so wise, Bishop?’
I force out a smile and a shrug hating that I have misplaced her trust with my truth but I can’t face the embarrassment or what would be the unintentional look of pity if I was to admit that, just like my wife, my team have also disowned me. I know there’s a possibility she might check in with Andy but I’ll deal with that if and when it happens. Hell it might even work in my favour and actually encourage Andy or Vic, possibly even Jack or Ben to call in.
That didn't happen and in ten weeks I have not heard from anybody. Not my wife. Not my friends, actually not even my friends, my work colleagues. Clearly they are not my friends. Nobody. Nobody had phoned. Nobody had text. Nobody had called to the apartment.
Between week two and week six, I had text and phoned Carina at least once a day. Never was a text replied to or a phone call answered and I was ok with that. I knew I had put my wife through hell. I knew I had said some horrible, vicious and traumatising things. I will never forgive myself for using Andrea's death against her and I knew she needed time and space to process all that had happened. Around week five, my texts and voicemails began to get more desperate. I pleaded to meet, I pleaded for a message in any way to let her know there was still a future for us. I wanted to apologise. I wanted to recognise and own the hell I had put carina through. I wanted to tell my wife that I was in love with her but all I got was silence so after week six, I stopped trying. It just hurts too much knowing every attempt I made would be ignored.
She told me time and time again that she knew mental illness, how she had been dealing with it her whole life. She had spent months telling me that I needed help, that I needed therapy. That I had a mental illness . Putting me on a 5150 hold showed that she knew I was not well. Mentally, I was a mess and Carina knew this. Carina knew that anyone in this position would go into denial, say and do things they don't mean, usually are not even aware of their actions or the pain and hurt they put those they love through. She had recognised this in me just as she had with her father and Andrea so why was it that she would jump on the first plane back to Italy if her father needed her or would be at Andrea's side after a manic episode but she hadn't done it with me?
In all honesty I had expected Carina to show up the next day at the hospital with a stern look on her face, arms crossed defensively and a slurry of angry Italian words being thrown in my direction and I would bravely accept them but that never happened. She had simply walked out of that hospital room and away from me. She wasn't going to support me as I so desperately needed in my recovery.
With Diane now on her first week of her work trip, I debated texting and asking her for a zoom call. I needed to talk these niggling thoughts through. I needed to understand how despite all I had put her through, why Carina was treating me so differently to how she did Andrea.
'If you....If you walk out that door we're done.. Do you hear me?...We're done….'
Those 52 letters are haunting my thoughts tonight. I still can’t fathom why I let myself get to the point of self destruction that such words would ever leave my mouth. I know why I said them at the time, I wanted to hurt Carina for forcing me to stay at the hospital against my will. I guess deep down I thought she loved me enough that they would mean nothing to her. I thought I was her person and that should never walk out on me. These are words I know came from a person who was so beyond broken and it's a daily struggle to understand how Carina thought I meant them. How could she think that the words I had said had come from anywhere other than fear. Fear of having spiralled to the point I found myself. But she must have, right? What else could explain the interaction I overheard at the hospital on my final check up with Dr Altman between a heavily pregnant woman and one of the nurses. She was looking for Carina and I’m fucking sure it wasn't just as a patient. I know I had made the last six months of her life unbearable to the point that our relationship was crumbling. I am well aware that I spent nights sleeping at the station or working extra shifts to avoid being around her but fuck, that wasn't because I didn’t love her. It wasn't because I thought our marriage was beyond repair and it hurts the possibility that she’s moved on so fast.
For hours I argued with my inner turmoil as I paced around my living room but eventually a calmness took over me and I knew what I had to do. I had a moment of perfect clarity and decisively made a decision that will be the best thing for both of us. I don’t end up asking for that zoom call. Instead I pick up my phone and call for a different sort of appointment feeling a whole lot lighter at the end of it. I slip into bed that night knowing I am making the right decision. For me, for Carina, for the future and for the first time in a while, I slip effortlessly into a heavy, peaceful sleep.
*********************************************
I have given myself a little over a week to sit on the decision I made about my future. I worried the even-mindedness with which I made my decision initially may begin to ebb away as the days passed by but that niggle seems to have been fruitless. Not only have I not questioned it, I’ve actually been quite excited. Excited to be free from this constant pain. I can’t wait to free myself from the constant triggers that surround me daily. Some might say it’s the coward's way out but what choice do I have? Carina wont communicate with me and I see no other way to free myself from this constant burden of guilt and regret.
I have spent the majority of today cleaning the apartment from top to bottom. The living room, kitchen, bathroom and bedroom have each had a deep clean. The floors have been mopped and the clutter has been packed into boxes and moved to the storage cupboard. Every bin has been emptied and the laundry washed, ironed and has neatly been put away. In all honesty the place didn't need it. Cleaning has fallen heavily into my routine these past few weeks as a form of self soothing so it was already spotless but I needed a distraction from the appointment I have just this very minute stepped out of.
It’s a little past 6.30 at night and the sun has long since set, casting the streets of Seattle into a tranquil blanket of darkness. I had specifically requested a later appointment with this very reason in mind, the blackness of the night serving as another screen to remain unnoticed and undetected as I head through the heart of the city to reach my final stop of the night. I also have a beaney on and my hood yanked up but neither can guarantee the complete anonymity I desperately crave.
There was a dull light coming from the moon, which was only added to by the dim glow of streetlights. The cold night wrapped the night in a frosty embrace, the air crisp and biting. Stars twinkled like diamonds in the clear, dark sky, while the moon cast a silvery glow over the silent, snow-covered landscape. Each breath hung in the air, a visible testament to the frigid temperature. The stillness seemed to magnify the cold, creating a sense of isolation and introspection. I’m not even sure when it started to snow. Thankfully it’s not heavy and no weather warnings have been put in place for tomorrow.
Hugging my coat to me a little tighter, I take my first step onto the sidewalk and briefly debate which was to turn. Left or right. Both routes will take me where I need to be but both have equal disadvantages. Left will take me past haunted grounds whereas right will add at least another hour to my journey. Screw it. I’m already shivering to my core and this is not the weather I want to stalk the streets in and decide on heading left, my legs on autopilot as I move to cover ground.
Now that I have one of the final pieces of my jigsaw for my plan to be put into action, my head, and my heart a little, feel heavy. I didn't expect to suddenly start feeling this way but I can’t deny it. I have less than12 hours to back out, once it’s done, there’s not much room for going back.
Am I 100% sure? Is there really no other way? Will others have regret for their own actions that caused it? I simply don't have the answers that a small part of me is searching for.
My swirling brain has distracted me from paying much attention to the distance I have already covered much less the icy conditions I now find myself treading on. Twice I have nearly lost my footing and again now, right at the threshold to Grey Sloan which momentarily caused me to pause on the spot as my eyes wandered the familiar space.
The coffee cart where I begged Carina to give me and our relationship another chance. This is where I promised her I would spend every day of the rest of my life earning her trust. It’s where I first told her I loved her and now without realising it I'm standing only a few feet away from where she proposed to me. I wipe away the tears that are quietly trickling down my face and for the first time in what feels like forever, I have a genuine smile. So many of our relationship milestones were reached here that I allow myself to reminisce and to grieve what has been lost.
The pregnant woman asking for Carina. The forced hospital stay….My brain won't let me settle on the positives for very long it seems. It’s almost like it’s toying with me. The devil and the angel sitting one on each shoulder. One is the past, one holds the memories that I will cherish and count each and every blessing with whilst the other is my reality. A reality I feel powerless to change and the heaviness of that simply outweighs everything else.
‘Carina has already moved on. Keep going with the plan.’ I mutter to myself as my feet start moving again.
I can feel my heart rate spike as I pound along the next few blocks. There’s a reason for it and it’s one I simply cannot avoid. The odd burst of music and raised voices escaping each and every time the door swings open alerts me to its close proximity. I don’t need to look up to know I am just a stones throw from Joe’s. I don't intend on stopping here to reminisce as I had done at the hospital. Absolutely no chance. If anyone from the station or any of the doctors familiar with me through Carina will spot me it will be here. I wish I could swaddle myself in a cloak of invisibility to take a step inside, just for old times sake, just to see for one final time the place I met the woman I thought I would spend the rest of my life with.
‘She’s moved on, remember.’
My pace quickens as the music gets louder. I hurry past the heavy double doors, forcing my head down lower. I’m currently not thinking or paying attention. My focus is firmly on my feet as they alternate one in front of the other. I can’t pass another restaurant that has hosted one of our date nights or a Carina approved coffee shop. I can’t smell the sweet aroma of another bakery where I have been force fed, kind of, Italian delicacy’s each time we have passed. I can’t reflect on the past anymore. This city has been home all of my life but now it’s time to say goodbye. I’m over the heartbreak tour. I have one place left to visit then I can be done.
And here I am, frozen in place, outside of the Station with a deep hole in my stomach. My heart is hammering far too loudly in my chest. I felt light headed and uneasy being here but I have something I need to retrieve from my locker. I know A team is off shift tonight so I wont run the risk of bumping into any of them but the caution that’s been ebbing through me on the walk here has lifted a little as I notice all engines and the Aid Car missing from the barn. This would make things a whole lot easier. I walked in before I lost my nerve and head straight for the stairs. As I approached the front desk, I spot a firefighter from 23 on desk duty. I offered a small smile and quickly told him I am going to retrieve something from my locker. He smiled and gestured with his hand for me to go up, totally uninterested. If I had more time, I probably would have wondered why a sub from 23 was covering at 19 but I’m in a rush and truthfully I didn't fucking care. It didn't matter anymore. I wanted to be in and out before anyone from B shift arrived back and thinking of anything else right now would just be a distraction. I took the stairs two at a time, keeping my head down and the hood from my hoodie up. If there is anyone around, hopefully they wouldn't recognise me. I reach my locker un-interrupted and grab for what I came for, sticking it in my pocket, only stopping briefly to look at the pile of photos I had taken down from the pinboard a few weeks before the accident that are now shoved messily at the bottom and that’s where I am going to leave them. They mean nothing to me anymore. This station means nothing to me anymore. All I feel being in here is pain. Pain of not having my so-called fire family having my back. Pain of having my so-called fire family ignore me for months, gossip about me behind my back, watch on shift after shift as I was hazed, bullied, made fun of for making one stupid mistake. It hurt so much how nobody stood up for me against Beckett. How nobody, besides Theo, spoke up for me, happy to let things continue so long as it wasn't them in the firing line. Happy to continue watching me slide to oblivion.
Wiping away a tear, I gave myself a talking to and slam the door to my locker before heading back through the station.
By the time I get home a little while later, my whole body is numb from the cold. The snow has now been replaced by a heavy sleet and my clothes are soaked right through. Stripping off by the front door, I carefully place the two items I’ve been carrying on me down on the cabinet ready to be put in place in the morning before heading straight to the bathroom for a long, hot shower.
An hour later I’m snuggly laying in my bed, wide awake. Thoughts of Carina consuming me. When did things really start to go wrong? That was easy. The night Carina found out about the blackmail of Sullivan and Chief Ross. After that rooftop argument. Carina lay in bed that night with her back to me. In an attempt to make some sort of peace with my wife, I reached out to take a hold of her only to see her brush me off and storm off to the bathroom. That was the turning point, I think. By the time she came out I was gone. I slept at the station the next night, worked an extra shift the night after and at 23 the night after that. That was the moment after being rejected by my wife my walls started to come up and they only kept on building.
When Warren and I returned to the Station after being called to the Dixon residence the following day and Carina had offered me a smile, I rejected her the way I had been rejected. Another brick. Every failed pregnancy test. Another brick. Every mention of therapy. Another brick. I now realise that I closed myself off so much it's a wonder I was even functioning at all.
My thoughts trail to the last time I was happy in this bed. Probably when I was putting a syringe of Jack's sperm into Carina. That was the last time we were truly happy, when our future felt it could be anything we wanted it to be. There had been one night since then of course. The night I hid away from Carina in the spare bedroom tending to my ankle, preferring to do this away from her to save having a lecture thrown at me which would lead to a frustrated Maya snapping and an argument yet again beginning. Carina never bothered to interrupt me if I was locked away, something I did appreciate, but this night Carina's voice quietly coming through from the other side of the door asking what I was doing in the spare bedroom changed that. Hearing her talk about our early days of dating so fondly made me momentarily snap out of my negative headspace but it didn't last long. My wall soon came back up and I asked, or rather snapped at Carina, asking if there was a point to this conversation. Hearing a dejected, muffled reply from her was enough to make me leave the sanctuary of the room and open the door and what I saw in front of me took my breath away. My wife, my super, super hot Italian goddess stood in front of her in nothing but sexy lingerie. I took in every inch of her. She was breathtakingly beautiful.
Flashback
'Sorpresa' my wife announced
'What is this'? I asked, looking away from Carina and down at petals and candles that lined the hallway.
It's everything from our first night together. It's the same lingerie, the same lavender flowers. It's... I love you. And whatever we're going through, we'll get through it together because our love story is beautiful, and I don't want to lose it. I don't want to lose us.
I took her hand and when she let out a surprised sigh, I turned her face to mine and told her I missed her. That had been the first intimate touch in weeks.
We had stumbled back towards the bedroom in a heated, eager and needy embrace. There was a fight for dominance that neither of us was willing to lose. Carina took hold of the hem of my vest and roughly pulled it up, forcing us to break apart. I took this opportunity to take off the silk robe Carina wore and attached my lips to the side of my wife's neck. Carina moaned at the contact and her hands quickly searched for my breasts, pulling down my sports bra to gain access. It was my turn to moan by this point as she roughly tugged at my nipples, quickly making them hard. I couldn't hold back anymore and unhooked the clasp of Carina's bra, needing to feel her breast against my own. I could feel the wetness that had formed in my Calvin Kleins growing as Carina's hard nipples grazed against my skin. As our lips found each other again, I took the hand that had been tightly holding Carina's hair and thrust it into her underwear, glad to discover she was just as wet as I was. Carina moaned at the contact and bit hold of my lip, forcing me into the bedroom. We undressed each other in record time, still fighting for dominance.
'Fuck me Bambina' was all Carina said and I wasn't about to deny her.
The next few hours passed the same way before we both fell asleep, me on my back, Carina on her side with an arm slung over my stomach. When we woke in the morning, we were both on our sides with our backs to each other and in a few hours time things would be tense again.
I let out a long slow breath before curling to my side. I had plans for tomorrow and wanted to be well rested. Tomorrow is a big day and I can’t fucking wait. After tomorrow I wont have to put up with this fucking pain anymore.