Chapter Text
Carina didn’t notice it at first, not really.
Maya had always been capable, the kind of woman who moved through the world with her shoulders squared and her senses sharp, the firefighter in her wired to anticipate danger before anyone else even smelled smoke. But somewhere along the way, that instinct had started orbiting Carina specifically, like Maya carried a map of potential hazards in her head and Carina’s name was written across every escape route.
It began quietly, long before either of them said “I love you,” long before they were anything more than two people circling each other with interest they both pretended was casual.
One evening, Carina walked into her kitchen and stopped short. Maya was standing on a chair again, balanced with practiced ease, sleeves pushed up, and brow drawn in quiet focus as she adjusted the smoke detector. The faint LED light flickered against her face, highlighting the seriousness with which she treated something Carina barely remembered even existed.
Carina blinked. It truly never occurred to her to check them. She always assumed they just… worked. That was what alarms did, right? They beeped when they wanted something. They screamed if something was wrong.
But Maya didn’t wait for alarms to scream.
“I already tested it,” Carina said, smiling but mostly bewildered. “I pressed the button a few months ago. It beeped.”
“It was chirping last time I was here,” Maya replied without looking down. “Low battery.”
“I didn’t even hear it.”
“I did.”
Of course she did. Maya heard everything. Saw everything. Anticipated everything Carina didn’t know she needed to think about.
Carina stood there watching her, watching the quiet competence, the certainty, and the instinct to protect. And it still didn’t register, not fully, that Maya did this out of love. Carina only knew she appreciated it. This small, ordinary act of someone taking care of something for her. Something she would have ignored until it became a problem.
Maya clicked the cover back into place, tapped it once to test it, then climbed down carefully. One hand braced on the counter, feet finding the floor with that effortless athletic precision. She straightened, dusted her palms on her jeans, and shrugged like what she’d done was nothing at all.
Carina stepped forward the instant Maya’s weight grounded, sliding her arms easily around her waist. “And you climbed my furniture like a firefighter scaling a tree?”
“Better than having you wake up to a fire,” Maya murmured, leaning in to kiss her cheek slowly, lingering in a way that made Carina melt into her. “Or fall off that chair you would’ve used.”
Carina laughed and kissed her back properly this time, lips brushing Maya’s in a grateful, lingering press. Maya’s hands found her hips like they always did, instinctive and sure, as if they belonged nowhere else.
****
Then there were the times they walked together—through Capitol Hill on their way to brunch, or across the parking lot to the grocery store, or down a quiet neighborhood street on a rare shared day off. Maya always drifted subtly, almost invisibly, to the outside edge closest to traffic. At first Carina assumed it was coincidence, but no—Maya’s hand would rest at the small of her back, gently steering her, redirecting her by inches whenever they changed sides of the street.
If a car passed too quickly, Maya’s palm pressed firmer, her body shifting just enough to create a barrier. Carina barely noticed; she only felt the warmth at her back and leaned into it without thinking.
Sometimes a stranger would approach someone muttering to themselves, or walking a little too close, or giving that instinctive something’s off vibe. And every single time, Maya’s arm slid naturally around Carina’s waist, pulling her subtly but undeniably into her side. Her posture went taller, shoulders squared, and gaze sharp and watchful. Not aggressive—just alert, present, and ready.
Carina always kissed Maya when she did that, usually on her shoulder or the side of her neck, a small press of affection meant simply as, You’re cute when you’re protective. She never thought much of it. Maya would just exhale softly, tension easing, tilting her head a little as if welcoming the touch, grateful for it, even.
Maya would keep her arm around Carina’s waist until the person had passed and the street felt safe again.
Maya would smile, small and private, and tilt her head toward Carina, silently inviting another kiss, which Carina always gave. And Maya always leaned into it like it steadied her, like the world quieted for a moment and everything she was protecting was right there in her arms.
****
And Carina’s car—she didn’t even want to think about that.
The dashboard had been lit up like a Christmas tree for months before she started dating Maya. Nothing dangerous, nothing urgent, just those annoying little warnings modern cars loved to display. Maya could only roll her eyes affectionately at how bad her girlfriend was at letting her car get to the point of begging for immediate attention. sometimes low tire pressure, sometimes overdue oil changes, sometimes that mysterious light Carina swore had been glowing since she bought the car.
Carina’s excuse was always the same: she was busy, and she’d get to it later.
But “later” didn’t work for Maya, not when the woman she loved was out driving around with a vehicle that looked like it was trying to send Morse code.
So Maya took over. Quietly. Consistently.
Because making sure Carina’s car was always in working condition was just another way of loving her.
One morning, Carina walked out to find her car freshly washed, the warnings gone, the oil changed, the tires rotated, and a tiny sticky note on the steering wheel that simply said,
Drive safe, baby. —M
She stood there for a full minute, heart thudding too hard, the sunrise bouncing off the windshield like it was in on the secret. She laughed, because of course Maya had done all of that, and she melted a little, because of course Maya had done all of that.
Carina appreciated not looking at the dashboard of Christmas lights anymore.
Little, everyday proofs that she was loved.
****
Date night at Carina’s apartment always unfolded slowly, like the evening knew it didn’t have to rush. Maya moved around the kitchen with practiced ease, stirring, tasting, and adjusting. When she turned toward Carina with a spoonful, she blew gently on it first, checking the temperature before offering it.
“Careful,” Maya said softly.
Carina leaned in, took the bite warm and perfect, and then leaned forward again, catching Maya’s lips in a kiss. A quiet reward. A natural, easy affection that made Maya smile helplessly against her mouth.
Dinner drifted into lingering conversation, laughter tucked between touches, knees brushing, hands catching, and kisses dropped in passing like they were part of the recipe.
Later, when they drifted toward the bedroom, Carina peeled off her clothes and let them fall wherever gravity decided. She didn’t think about it; she was warm, full, and wrapped in the floating feeling she always got after an evening with Maya.
While Carina washed her face, Maya quietly gathered the scattered clothes, folding them and placing them on the dresser where Carina wouldn’t trip in the dark. She didn’t sigh, didn’t tease, and didn’t make it a thing. It was simply care in motion. Something she did because she loved her.
Carina noticed anyway. When she slipped into bed, she tugged Maya in by the front of her shirt and kissed her slowly, sweetly, and gratefully. The kind of kiss that said she saw every small thing and felt all of it.
They fell asleep tangled together.
Hours later, Carina stirred, blinking at the faint dawn light leaking through the curtains. She wasn’t cold—Maya was wrapped around her from behind, one arm snug around her waist, one leg hooked over hers, protective even in sleep. Carina smiled into the pillow, pressing a kiss to the arm holding her.
Maya didn’t wake, but her embrace tightened just a little, instinctive and sure.
****
Still, she didn’t realize how deep all these little gestures ran until the moment another doctor mentioned it.
It happened in the break room at Grey Sloan, late in the afternoon between consults. A doctor whose name Carina couldn’t quite remember sighed dramatically as she dropped into the chair beside her.
“You know,” she said, opening her lunch with the exhaustion of someone defeated by life, “I wish my partner was even half as thoughtful as your girlfriend.”
Carina paused mid-sip of her coffee. “Maya?”
“Yes, Maya,” the doctor huffed, waving her fork like it helped her make her point. “The firefighter who practically glows whenever she looks at you. I’ve been noticing it for months, actually. The way she always does these little things for you. And not the performative kind.” She leaned in. “Like… the real little things. The kind people usually overlook.”
Carina frowned in confusion, and the doctor kept going.
“My boyfriend, God love him, takes out the recycling and then acts like he rebuilt the entire hospital with his bare hands. He does one nice thing and waits for applause,” she muttered. “But your girlfriend? She does things without saying a word. She doesn’t even seem to want credit for it. It’s rare. Really rare.”
Carina blinked, warmth beginning to pool in her chest.
“Honestly,” the doctor added, stabbing at her salad, “if my partner did even one of the things Maya does for you—without me asking? I’d probably faint. Do you realize how lucky you are?”
Carina opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Because she wasn’t sure she had realized. Not completely.
She’d appreciated the gestures, of course—every replaced battery, every guiding touch on the sidewalk, every small act of protection or care—but she hadn’t understood how consistent it was. How visible it was to others. How quietly devoted Maya must be for someone at the hospital, someone who barely knew them, to notice over months.
The realization hit her in a slow, spreading wave that was warm, grounding, and almost overwhelming.
Maya loved her like that.
Quietly. Constantly.
Not for credit. Not for attention.
Just because she loved her.
And the thought made Carina’s breath catch.
*****
Later that evening, Carina walked through the door of their apartment with one thought in her mind: Maya.
She didn’t pause to take off her shoes or set down her bag. The moment she spotted Maya on the couch—
Maya looked up, a smile already forming. “Hey—”
She didn’t get the rest out.
Carina climbed onto the couch, straddled her hips, and settled into her lap in one smooth, determined motion. Maya’s hands flew to her waist in instinctive surprise.
“Babe—”
Carina cupped Maya’s face with both hands and kissed her. Fiercely. Deeply. A kiss that tasted like revelation and gratitude and need. Maya gasped softly into her mouth before kissing back just as intensely, fingers tightening at Carina’s hips.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, their foreheads rested together, warm, steady, and grounding.
Maya laughed under her breath, stunned. “Hi.”
Carina exhaled shakily. “Hi.”
They stayed there, breathing each other’s air, Maya’s thumbs stroking slow circles against Carina’s waist.
Finally Carina spoke, voice soft but sure.
“Why do you do all those things?”
Maya blinked. “What things?”
“The way you look after me.” Carina traced the line of her jaw with gentle fingers. “The smoke detectors. Walking on the side with the cars. Folding my clothes." Her voice wavered. “You do so many things… quietly. Constantly. And you never say anything.”
Maya’s hands stilled. Her brows drew together. “Is it bothering you?”
“No,” Carina whispered immediately. “No, amore. Not at all. I just… want to understand.”
Maya leaned back slightly, hands sliding up to Carina’s ribs. She spoke simply, honestly.
“I do it because I love you,” she said. “I want you safe. I want your day to be easier where I can make it easier. It’s not something that needs to be announced.”
Carina’s heart tightened so fully it almost hurt.
It wasn’t surprising.
It was exactly Maya.
Quiet devotion stitched into everyday life.
She framed Maya’s face in her hands again and kissed her slower this time, tender and reverent. Maya sighed softly into her mouth, pulling her closer in that way she did, steady and sure.
When Carina pulled back, their noses brushed.
“Is that okay?” Maya murmured. “Me… doing those little things?”
“More than okay,” Carina breathed. “It makes me feel cherished. Like someone finally sees me. The real me.”
She kissed her again, deeper this time. Maya kissed her back with steady hands and a steady heart.
Carina settled more fully in her lap, feeling the warmth and safety of her. Maya’s hands traced her sides and back, offering calm, grounding love.
“You take care of everyone,” Maya whispered, cupping the back of Carina’s neck. “Someone should take care of you too.”
Carina answered with a soft, grateful kiss, fingers curling into Maya’s hair.
They stayed like that for a long time, exchanging slow kisses, brushing noses, and smiling between breaths. Maya’s legs shifted beneath her, strong thighs cradling her in without her even realizing she was doing it. Even in stillness, Maya protected her.
Eventually Carina tucked her face into Maya’s neck, breathing her in. Maya wrapped her arms around her, holding her close.
“I love you,” Carina whispered.
Maya’s lips brushed her temple. “I love you too.”
And Carina sank deeper into Maya’s arms into a love built not on grand gestures, but on every quiet act that said, I’m here. I see you. I choose you.