Page 50 of Burn Protocol

A feral howl escapes me and Maya shifts beneath me instantly. I freeze. This is it. The moment where she runs. Where all this becomes too much. Already over before it even really started. But she doesn’t run. No. She takes my face between her hands, and forces me to look up at her.

“Darling, I need you to breathe now. Follow me. In through your nose,” she says low and steady before audibly breathing in. “Hold for four,” she continues, “and out again.”

I try to follow along. Even if I don’t like getting direct orders. There’s something in her tone that makes me listen. She breathes in again and so do I—shaky, in short rapid gasps, but calmer now. We lie like that for a few minutes, until my breath has calmed enough for me to inhale without shuddering.

“Good,” she whispers.

I tremble as I find her eyes again. Her gaze still calm and steady.

“Now, tell me about her. If you want.”

I shiver. I’ve never let myself go like this with anybody. Never shown this side of me, because they all run. But here she is, asking for it. How did you deserve her? There is no pressure behind her question. It’s just an open invitation. For the first time in my life, something falls away, and it is freeing.

“I thought we had some time. The fire was in the other train. I should have calculated the risk better, if I had taken the—”

“Stop,” she puts a finger over my lips. “This isn’t about blame. Tell me about her.”

She softly kisses me then, before leaning back again. Those gentle blue eyes spur me on as if she didn’t just stop me from spiraling.

“She was hurt and couldn’t move. Her daughter was right there with her, and I sent her away. I stole her last moments with her mother, Maya.”

My lips tremble as I stare up at her, guilt gnawing at me, but she just softly shakes her head.

“No Elena, you prevented her from losing her life alongside her mother’s. You saved her.”

Rationally, I know she is right. It’s just my soul that can’t seem to catch up with that. I clench my jaw and swallow hard, letting the pain sit between us. Maya puts her finger under my chin and lifts it. Her lips press softly against my forehead.

“You don’t have to believe that right now. Let me hold that truth for you. Tell me the rest.”

“We were about to get her out, and she was genuinely happy to see me. Legitimately happy. I almost had her, if I had walked just a little faster… The pressure of the fire knocked out the compartment door. The backdraft pushed me back and… and… Marta… she… she…”

I break again as the words die in my mouth. The tears roll down my face, into her hands, between her fingers. She does not let me disappear inside of myself, because she knows what I am starting to realize. I couldn’t save Marta. Not as a lieutenant, not as Elena. There was nothing I could have done differently to change that.

“She knew…” I whisper. “Marta knew she was going to die today.”

Maya tilts her head at my newfound realization.

“That’s why she let me send her daughter away. She understood triage and she felt the heat of the fire before it scorched her. Oh God, Maya, she knew… she knew and she still smiled at me.”

Maya’s lips are on mine as her tears mingle with my own. I hadn’t even noticed she’d started crying. Our kiss is salty, wet, desperate for contact and nurture. She is holding me. In her own unique and caring way, Maya is sheltering me from the storm inside me. And I let her.

***

We spend the next two days in bed. Talking, laughing, and exploring each other inside and out. For once in my life I am actually happy to be sent home on leave. We do not speak about the metro disaster again. Nor do we watch the news or any TV for that matter. We order in, cuddle wrapped up in blankets, listen to music, and make love on every surface. My apartment has never felt this alive. This lived-in. I’ve always considered this my home. It’s the only place where I could truly be myself. I’ve only brought in a woman twice, and regretted it instantly on both occasions. But with Maya, it’s different. It seems right.

I watch how she pads over from the kitchen, bare feet and only wearing my shirt, with two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. She carefully puts them down on the table, before crawling back on the couch and nestling up to my side. I smile down on her, placing a soft kiss to her temple. She hums with pleasure and turns to brush her lips against mine. I hum back.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“Hi,” I whisper.

I am about to pull her into my lap, when we are interrupted by the buzzing of her phone. It lies somewhere on the counter, discarded, but the robotic voice is loud enough to be heard throughout the whole building.

Helen Dubois.

Maya freezes in my arms.

Helen Dubois.